The War At Home
by MuttsandMoggies
Summary: While investigating the death of an army buddy, Auggie uncovers a scheme that could harm his friends, and destroy the Agency. Now complete with historical note!
1. Prologue

Title: _The War at Home_

Author: MuttsandMoggies

Category: Covert Affairs

Rating: T+

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's note: This story is loosely based on some real-life CIA misdeeds from some years ago.

The title is shamelessly borrowed from a song of the same title by Josh Groban, although this is not a songfic. Give it a listen.

Enjoy!

**Prologue:**

Henry Wilcox paced the conservatory, moving back and forth among the carefully tended palms and ferns, resembling nothing so much as a caged tiger. After two long years of exile, redemption was finally in sight. He glanced again at the phone gripped tightly in his fist. "You're on the shortlist," was all the message said.

Never one to hesitate, he punched in a number. A familiar voice answered. Wilcox bypassed the usual greetings and courtesies. "We have some tidying up to do. Do you remember your mission?"

"Yes, sir."

A fierce, feral smile spread across his face. "Then get to it."

* * *

><p>Dr. Ashleigh Bell puzzled over the information on the screen. As a researcher for the National Institute of Mental Health, she was accustomed to compiling endless streams of data from strange and curious case studies. But there was something about the cases before her now… VA patients, broken men and women who presented symptoms that went beyond the usual heartbreak of PTSD, of wounds that left no visible scars, beyond the depression, the grief and the paranoia. Something was off, but she was damned if she could figure out what that was. Defeated, she'd sent off an e-mail to her former professor at Bethesda. Maybe he would recognize something, see a pattern she had missed and make sense of the data.<p>

She glanced at the clock. Almost ten o'clock. No point in sticking around. She wouldn't have an answer to her query before the morning. She copied her data to a flash drive, shut down her computer and headed for the exit.

Swiping her i.d. across the scanner at the security station, she called out to the security guard. "You still letting that machine beat you at Solitaire, Mike?"

"Not this time, Doc," he answered. "Have a good night, or what's left of it."

"G'night. See you tomorrow".

"Careful out there. There's likely to frost on the bridges."

"I'm always careful," she grinned.

She turned up her collar against the chill. September would soon give way to October, she mused, as she hurried down the stairs to the parking lot. A hint of winter, not too far off, gave an extra bite to the cold autumn wind. All of a sudden, without warning, her feet flew out from under her. As if in slow motion, she realized she was falling, and wondered why the stairs were iced over so soon. She saw the stars whirling above her head, felt a moment of overwhelming pain as her head crashed into the unyielding stone steps, then darkness and oblivion.

* * *

><p>Danny Bolduc shot a quick glance at his rear view mirror. The black SUV was still there. He'd first noticed the tail as he was pulling out of Burlington's Church Street. This wasn't the big city. Anyone following him would be hard pressed to disguise his moves in the sparse traffic of the quiet Vermont college town. A few quick turns brought him onto Highway 2. The SUV was still there.<p>

Maybe it was just his overactive imagination. His new therapist had warned him about letting his heightened awareness get the better of his common sense. For all he knew, this might simply be a harried mom driving her kids to hockey practice. This was Vermont, for cryin' out loud, not Fallujah! Still, in spite of months of therapy, the old instincts kicked in. Without thinking, Captain Danny Bolduc, (ret.), of the U.S. Army Rangers fell back on his training and the evasion tactics he had learned years ago.

Twenty minutes later, as he sped past the quiet farms and rolling hills towards Montpelier, the SUV was still tailing him, keeping a discreet two-car distance. Dammit! He didn't have the stomach for this crazyassed spook shit anymore. He had a family, a home, and for the first time in a very long time, a future that didn't involve killing.

Bolduc considered his next move. He knew these roads. There had been a time when he'd explored every inch of them. He still knew them better than any outsider. He spotted a familiar curve up ahead, a long banking turn he used to love to race through back before his time in the Army, before the black ops. Tucked inside the curve lay the hidden entrance to one of the smaller rural routes. It would lengthen his journey home to Woodbury but those tailing him would never see him leave the highway. He slowed just a tad. Then, checking his rear-view mirror one last time, he swung the wheel around sharply, and sped onto the narrow side road.

_To be continued_


	2. What Friends Are For

**Chapter One: What Friends Are For**

"Thanks, Mrs. Pierce. I can manage." August Anderson gripped the letter his neighbor had given him, and turned towards his apartment.

"Are you sure you don't want me to read it to you?"

"Not necessary. My computer can do that for me," he answered, fitting his key to the heavy door. It had been a long, tiring day. On com for eighteen hours straight, juggling two high-risk missions, the last thing he wanted was to discuss his personal correspondence with the building gossip. The first thing he wanted was a cold beer, and then maybe some Coltrane and a good book. He listened for the sound of Mrs. Pierce's retreating steps. No such luck. "Have a pleasant evening, Mrs. Pierce." He hoped his smile didn't look too forced.

He slipped into his apartment and shut the door without waiting for a reply. He laid his cane, bag, badge and keys in their usual places, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Making his way to his desk, he turned his thoughts to the letter in his hand. Who would be writing to him? He couldn't even remember the last legitimate letter he had received. Everyone knew he was blind and either texted him or sent e-mails. He paid his bills online, and had even asked the building superintendant to remove his name and apartment number from his mailbox. The damn thing only served to collect the wads of junk mail the Post Office insisted on delivering, anyway!

The envelope had an address label on the upper left-hand corner, but there were no other distinguishing features. It was probably just more junk mail. He pulled out his pocket knife, slit the envelope, and pulled out the single folded page. No help there either. He booted up his computer, Braille display, and document reader, laid the envelope on the scanner's surface, typed in a brief command, and waited for his equipment to translate.

"Daniel and Laurie Bolduc," the soulless voice sounded out after a moment and proceeded to read the address. Auggie was no longer listening. "Danny? Frenchie?" He snatched off his headphones, frowning, grabbed the envelope from the scanner's surface, replaced it with the letter, and waited. Nothing. He flipped the letter over, resent the command and waited again for the document reader to do its thing, but after several minutes, the machine's only response was an error message. He picked up the note, and rand his fingertips lightly across the page, but couldn't make out anything but a faint tracery of swirls and indentations. "Handwriting… great!"

Auggie was tempted to set the letter aside and forget it until the weekend, when his brother would be coming over. But he had a stubborn inquisitive streak, and he knew he wouldn't rest until he knew why Danny had written to him. With a frustrated sigh, he picked up the phone and hit the first number on his speed dial.

* * *

><p>Annie Walker shut her door and made a beeline for her bed. God, what a day! Or was it two? She kicked off her shoes and closed her eyes, replaying in her head the Vilnius exchange. It all went wrong in so many ways. Nothing worked out as planned, but with her skill at improvisation and Auggie's voice in her ear, together they'd somehow managed to pull of the switch. Now, all she wanted was to take a long, long bath and then do some serious damage to her emergency Häagen Dazs rations.<p>

The ringing of her personal line dragged Annie from her reverie. Groaning, she glanced at the name on the screen. "If you are calling with more bad news about the mission, I swear I will get an unlisted number."

"Like that would stop me?" Auggie taunted. "No bad news I promise. Just a favor to ask."

She pushed herself up off the bed, all weariness forgotten. "I'm on my way. What do you need?"

"No need to break any land speed records, Walker. I just need your eyes for a bit."

"Just let me get changed. I'll be there in twenty."

"Great, you should arrive around the same time as the pizza."

"Extra pepperoni?"

"You know it."

"I'll be there in fifteen."

* * *

><p>"So where's the letter?" Annie asked around a mouthful of pizza.<p>

Auggie took a swallow of beer and disappeared into his office. A moment later, he reappeared holding out an envelope.

Annie glanced at the return address. "Who're Laurie and Daniel Bolduc? CIA?"

Auggie chuckled. "I seriously doubt anyone at the Agency would write to me via the USPS. No, Danny's not CIA…well, not in any verifiable sense." Auggie paused for a moment before continuing. "Danny and I worked together in Iraq … and in a couple of other places before that." His lips curled in a slight smile, the kind of smile that usually meant that whatever else he might have shared was above Annie's clearance.

"So what you're saying is that he does the Seventh Floor's dirty work?"

"If I told you…"

"Yeah, yeah…I get it."

Auggie grinned. "Last time we spoke, he'd left the Army and the Agency to take over his dad's dairy farm in Vermont. But that was six months ago. I don't know why he'd be writing to me. He knows what happened."

Annie set down the pizza crust, and wiped her hands. "Ready?"

Auggie listened closely as Annie unfolded the letter. Her sharp intake of breath a moment later, though nearly inaudible, wasn't quiet enough to escape his notice. His relaxed mood vanished, and his warrior instincts took over. "What is it?"

Annie quickly scanned the contents. The message was short, the handwriting cramped, shaky, and hard to read. She released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Auggie…"

"Just read it to me."

With a sigh, Annie began. "'_Dear Captain Anderson, It is with great sorrow that I am writing to inform you that my husband, Daniel Bolduc, passed away on September 25__th__.'" _Annie cast a quick glance at her friend. The color had fled from Auggie's face. "Auggie, I am so sorry…"

"Just read the letter…please?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah… I'm fine. The letter."

"'_I know that you and Danny served together, and thought you would want to know. Danny often spoke of you, and hoped you would come visit' _Did you?"

"No, I never saw him again, but I… never mind."

"What?"

Auggie shook his head. "Nothing. What else does the letter say?"

"Only that the memorial will be held on October 1st. Auggie, that's this weekend!

"Is there anything else?"

"'_It would mean a lot to us to if you could attend. I've invited the other members of Danny's old unit, as well.'"_

"You gonna go?"

Auggie picked up his plate, and brought it to the sink, Annie following. "Is there anything else?" he asked. "Does it say how he died?"

Annie scanned the letter, looking for something she might have overlooked. "No," she said, shaking her head, "only the date, place and time of the memorial. You want me to call Joan?"

Auggie frowned. "Joan? Why?"

"To let her know we won't be available this weekend."

"No. Not yet. Let me think about it."

Annie grabbed his arms and turned him around to better gauge his expression. "What's there to think about? He was one of your men. You have to go."

Gently, but firmly, he pried her fingers off his wrist, and started picking up the remnants of their meal. "I'll think about, ok? Give me the phone number before you go, okay?"

"Are you asking me to leave?"

"No," he snapped. "I'm asking you for the phone number."

Annie added the number to his phone list and gathered her things. "It's getting late. I'd better go."

Auggie turned and found her shoulder. "Annie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

She squeezed his arm. "I know, but it's late and we're both tired. I'll see you at work."

They walked downstairs together. As they reached the door, Auggie paused. "Thanks, Annie."

Annie planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "Hey, what are friends for?"

He listened to the sound of Annie's car until it faded into the familiar drone of his D.C. neighborhood, then made his way back upstairs to his apartment. He got himself another beer, sat down at his computer, and began searching the previous week's issues of the Vermont newspapers.

Thirty minutes later, with an aching head and a heavy heart, he scrolled though his phone list. A familiar drawl answered his call after a single ring.

"Auggie, man. I figured you'd be in touch."

"Curtis. You got a letter?"

"Yeah. I got a letter."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued<em>


	3. A Tangled Web

_Author's Note: Thanks everyone for your reviews and alerts. I'm flattered and humbled... and a little daunted. I hope the story continues to live up to your expectations. Enjoy!_

**Chapter Two: A Tangled Web**

Henry Wilcox answered the phone with a growl. "Status report, Ross."

"Bolduc's been eliminated. The other, same as."

"What do you mean 'same as'? Is she still alive or not?"

Dave Ross hesitated, while he sought words to mollify his boss. "Depends how you define 'alive', sir. She's at Bethesda Memorial with a severe brain injury. She's no threat to anyone."

"She's a loose end, Ross, and needs to be eliminated."

"Sir, she's in a coma and not expected to live. Right now, it looks like an accident. We go in there and start messing with the machines, there's a risk of someone finding out. On the other hand, if we let nature run its course…"

"Do we have her data?"

"We have a flash drive, and I sent one of our guys in to wipe her computer."

"Good," Henry responded; at least they'd done one thing right. "Keep her under close observation. If she so much as twitches…"

"…we take care of her."

* * *

><p>Auggie grabbed his jacket and cane and slipped out of his office. On most days, the ambient hum and chatter of the DPD served as a welcoming beacon, a wave of familiar sounds that drew Auggie in, bringing form, depth and dimension to his workplace. Today, however, it was a distraction, a ceaseless buzzing, swarming around his ears, intruding on his thoughts, and wearing away at his patience. Pleading a need to stretch his legs, he headed down the long marble hallway, following the familiar path to the small courtyard.<p>

Pushing open the door, he was greeted with a blast of wind that blew whirls dust up from the concrete and splashed the water out of the fountain. For a moment, he considered heading to the break room instead but dismissed the thought. A stiff wind might be just the thing to blow the cobwebs away, clear his head and sharpen his thinking. He tilted his face upwards to catch a touch of sunlight. There was none. In this weather, at least, he'd be the only one out here. He listened a moment longer to make sure he was alone, and made his way to the stone bench by the fountain.

He needed time to think. Clearly. Rationally. An accident, the papers and police report had said, but Auggie couldn't escape the nagging doubt that maybe it was something else. Something he might have been able to prevent.

He sighed and rake his fingers through his hair. Every soldier knew that he might not make it home. He'd never promised his men that he'd get them all home safely, but he had promised to keep them as safe as possible while they were under his command. They'd called him lucky, but it wasn't luck, it was planning. He'd built his detachments with attention to each man's strengths and, though they hated to admit it, their weaknesses, too. (He choked out a sob of laughter remembering Frenchie's pathological fear of spiders, and the way he had screamed like a little girl the time he'd spotted a camel spider under his bunk.) He'd planned every mission meticulously, trying to foresee every possible danger, and he had never lost a single man, not until Tikrit, when it all, literally, blew up in his face.

They'd called him lucky, but Auggie had always thought Frenchie was the one with real luck. The Vermont farmboy from the big French-Canadian family had an uncanny sense of self-preservation and had come through his whole time in Special Forces without so much as a shaving cut. And just when Auggie had started thinking that he might be a lifer, without warning he'd resigned from the Army and the Agency at the end of his last tour, gone home to Vermont, married his high school sweetheart and taken over his father's farm.

Auggie knew that sometimes the real test of courage came after the fighting was over. The burdens of civilian life were sometimes just too heavy to bear, and demons suppressed in the battlefield, came roaring back to life in the peace and quiet of home.

Auggie tried to keep in touch with his guys, checked up on them every now and then just to make sure everything was okay. He'd heard the satisfaction in the former Ranger's voice when they'd spoken in the spring and had assumed the transition had gone smoothly. And as hard as it was for Auggie to reconcile the hardened warrior to the easy-going farmer, Frenchie had seemed happy and well-adjusted the last time they had spoken.

He'd spent the night tossing and turning, but the combination of shock, grief, guilt, and weariness had only muddled his thinking further. Curtis hadn't had any answers. Neither had Tommy. He scrubbed his hands over his face. One question kept swirling around his brain: why?

* * *

><p>Annie stepped into the small courtyard, waiting silently for Auggie to acknowledge her presence. After a moment, she let the door shut with an audible click. Auggie's head came up with a start.<p>

"The weather seems to have dulled your superpowers."

"Even Superman has his kryptonite."

"Joan's been looking for you." Annie paused and looked her friend over. "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks." Auggie toyed with his cane, making no move to answer Joan's summons. "Annie… about last night?"

She sat down next to him. "Auggie, you have to go to the memorial."

"I'm pretty sure I'm the last person Danny's family will want to see there."

"That's ridiculous. His wife wouldn't have written if she didn't want you to go."

"I dunno." He shook his head. "I was supposed to be looking out for him. I might have heard something in his voice."

"You found out how he died," Annie said with growing realization.

"The local paper said he lost control of his pick-up truck. He went off the side of a mountain a few miles from home. The police report said it was a single vehicle accident. In broad daylight. On a clear road. Leaving no skid marks."

"He killed himself?"

"Looks that way. He wouldn't be the first vet to find civilian life too hard. It wouldn't be that difficult for a guy like Frenchie to make it look like an accident. Besides, it would be easier for his family to think that his truck hit patch of loose gravel than to find him after he'd put a bullet through his brain. At least that way they'd get the insurance money."

"And now you're blaming yourself."

He gave a weary shrug and fell silent.

She took his hands. "Auggie, you can't take on the burden of Danny's death."

"It was my job to look out for him."

"Yeah, when you guys were in Iraq. Not back home. You can't take on that guilt."

"No, but I can try to find out why he did it." Auggie slumped, staring at some unseen spot between his feet.

Annie hesitated. "To do that, you have to go to his funeral. You owe him that, as his friend and his captain. Besides," she added, "that's where you can start finding answers and maybe closure."

Auggie chewed on his lip, considering her words, then, unexpectedly gave a wry laugh. "You, Annie Walker, are very persuasive."

"Top of my class at the Farm. So you'll go?"

"Yeah… Maybe…"

"Auggie…"

"Okay… probably."

"Well, that's convincing." Annie remarked dryly. "C'mon, Joan's waiting, and we've got a lot of work to clear before we leave."

A slow smile crept across Auggie's face. "We?"

Annie answered his smile with one of her own. "You don't think I'm going to let you go there alone, do you?" She rose from the bench. "C'mon. Unless you really want to court danger, you do not want to keep Joan waiting"

He rose, frowning. "What does she want?" he asked, taking Annie's arm.

"Beats me. I'm just a lowly worker bee."

They paused in front of Joan's office. Annie placed Auggie's hand on the handle.

"Auggie, you sure you're okay now?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Auggie paused. "How did you know to find me out there?"

"Well, I figured you were either out by the fountain….or in the women's restroom." She nudged him in the arm and walked back to her work station.

Auggie's smile spread wide across his face. It always amazed him how Annie managed to lighten even his darkest moods. He turned and knocked on Joan's door. "You wanted to see me?"

Joan stood up behind her desk. "Come in and close the door. Have a seat."

A look of doubt flitted across Auggie's face. "What's going on?"

"You tell me." Joan said from a few feet in front of him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, finding the couch.

"Auggie, how long have we known each other?"

"Hmmm…" He faked a look of intense concentration. "Do you want that in years…days…hours?"

Joan fought to keep the smile from her voice. "Auggie, I learned about your friend's passing. I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"How much time do you need to go to the memorial?"

"I don't have to go. They probably don't expect me to show up. If you need me here, I can stay. I'll send my regrets..."

"No, you need to go. I've known you long enough to know how you like to avoid the unpleasant by burying yourself in work."

Auggie knew better than to contradict his boss.

"Work has always been your escape," Joan continued. "It was back when you were starting out as case officer, moving from one op into another, whenever you didn't want to deal with the unpleasant. It's what you did when you went to Iraq after the whole mess with Natasha. When you came home, you did it again by diving into your rehab and then hiding out here at the DPD."

"I'm not hiding out, Joan."

"No? How often have you met with the men of your unit since you came home?"

"It's not that simple. I don't have time for reunions. We're pretty busy here. Besides, we're never in the same place at the same time."

"You could be."

"We keep in touch, Joan. I still look out for my guys."

"I know you do," she replied, gently. "And I know you probably feel responsible for what happened…"

Auggie frowned. "Why this sudden concern?"

"Auggie, you know Danny was one of our guys, too." Auggie heard his boss cross the room. A moment later, he felt the sofa cushions shift as she sat down next to him. "And you know how rigorous the screening process is. We take only the best. If Danny Bolduc had shown any suicidal tendencies, we wouldn't have kept him, no matter how good a soldier or operative."

"I don't know, Joan," Auggie replied, slowly shaking his head. "War changes people. Even the strongest can break. The things we saw…and did… Over time, it gets to you. And it gets harder and harder to distance yourself. Danny stayed in a long time."

"I know, Auggie. Still, you're going to go to the memorial. Annie will go with you."

"Yes, ma'am."

" And, Auggie… Keep your ears open."

"You suspect something?"

"I'm paid to be suspicious."

Auggie gave his boss a questioning look. "You want me to investigate Danny's death?"

"The CIA is not an investigative agency. We're not law enforcement. We gather intelligence."

"That's an awfully fine line, Joan."

"But one that our charter forbids us to cross. You know the rules. One misstep..."

Auggie raised an eyebrow. "Which is why you're sending in the blind guy?"

"I'm sending you in because I trust you to be discreet. And because you're the best liar I know."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I want you keep our mandate in mind. You'll find out what you can, and then turn it over to me. If any of it is actionable, I hand it over to the Bureau. We let them pursue the actual investigation."

Auggie shot his boss a quizzical look. "And you're okay with that?"

"I'll be fine if it confirms my suspicions. Don't take matters into your own hands. Don't take any unnecessary risks. And don't do anything that might jeopardize your cover or Annie's. "

"Yes, ma'am."

"Officially, you'll be there to pay your respects to a fallen fellow soldier." Joan rose. She returned a moment later, and pressed a flash drive in Auggie's hand. "We don't have anything solid. Nothing substantial… but I received a secure communication from Danny a couple of days before he died. He wanted to meet with me. Said there were things I should know. Then a few days later, a cryptic message from an old assett at Bethesda. Maybe it's just coincidence..."

"Since when do you believe in coincidences, Joan?" Auggie asked, pocketing the drive.

"Read it at home. On a secure, stand-alone device. Destroy it when you're done."

Auggie nodded.

"Do what you can. Talk with your guys. Ask questions, but be discreet. And communicate with us only in case of dire necessity. This isn't our jurisdiction. For all intents and purposes you're a veteran attending a friend's funeral. If it turns out to be no more than a series of coincidences, at least you'll have your answers."

"And if it isn't?"

"We'll plan our next move, and call in the Bureau. Whatever you learn, it won't be wasted. We'll use it to help our troops coming home." Joan rose and Auggie followed. "The travel service will have your reservations within the hour," Joan said, walking him to the door. "Go home. Get packed. And have a safe trip."

_To be continued._


	4. Remembrance

_Author's note: So, so sorry to have taken so long on the chapter. No excuses except that the Fates wouldn't let me play with the Muses. _

_This one is long and mostly dialogue and exposition. There is a plot coming, and action, lots of action. I promise. BTW, I hope I got the conversation between Auggie and his buddies right. I'm the mom of a Marine, not a Ranger, and could only transpose what I know of Leatherneck lingo, or at least a G-rated version thereof. ;_)

_As always, thanks so very much for your generous comments, reviews, suggestions, and all the story alerts. Enjoy Chapter 3, and let me know what you think._

Chapter Three: Remembrance

Joan Campbell slumped in the hard plastic chair, and forced her body into a posture of despondency. Wearing frayed jeans, a down vest, and a cap that hid her blond hair, she scanned the crowd of damaged veterans that filled the waiting room in Bethesda Naval's behavioral health unit, seeking a face out of the past.

With feigned indifference, she forced herself to gaze into the haunted eyes and haggard faces of the young warriors who filled the room, praying all the while that the grief she felt at their struggles would not crack her carefully constructed mask. She thought of her friends, of Auggie, Danny, and others she had known who had gone through hell and back, and had returned home with scars that would never fully heal. Had Danny fallen victim to the despair she saw so plainly in the features of the young people waiting here?

She sank more deeply in her chair as she felt her eyes begin to sting. A grim smile touched her lips. What would her staff make of the Ice Queen of the DPD if they could see her now? Here, at least, in this place of despair and healing, tears would not seem out of place.

* * *

><p>Auggie felt the car slow down and pull onto the shoulder. "Are we already there?" he asked.<p>

Annie smiled. " No, we're still about an hour out. I just want to stretch my legs."

"Tired? You want me to drive?"

"Not that tired! Coming?"

Auggie paused the book he'd been listening to and removed his earbuds. "Do I have a choice?" Annie didn't answer, but he was pretty sure that she was making one of those cute faces that everyone was always so eager to tell him about. "So why are we stopping here?" he asked.

"To enjoy the view. It's breathtaking."

"If you say so."

"Fine. You stay here and play the crabby old blind guy if you like. There's a lookout here, and I'm going to spend a few minutes taking in the scenery. I might even take your picture if you lose the scowl."

"No compassion for the afflicted, Miss Walker, none at all."

"None, especially not when you try to play the pity card." Annie curled her hand around his arm and walked with him to the lookout."

Auggie felt the gravel crunch beneath his feet, and within a few steps, he sensed a vast emptiness open up before him. Annie set his hand on the weathered railing. "So, what are we looking at?" he asked.

"Wave after wave after wave of mountains," Annie exclaimed. "It's stunning. The colors are at their peak, and the afternoon sun is making everything look so vibrant. All ablaze in crimson, green, and gold. I wish you could see it..."

He swept his sightless gaze across the landscape, and tried to conjure up an image of what Annie was describing. In the years since he had lost his sight, his memory of colors was slowly dwindling away, and the harder he tried to hold on to the fleeting memories, the harder it was to remember. A few beloved images remained like faded photographs, sepia toned and frozen in time. But new experiences were built on his remaining senses, and try as he might, he could rarely form them into pictures.

He couldn't picture these mountains. Instead, he tried to remember the last time he'd driven the Blue Ridge Parkway in the fall. He'd been with Natasha and they'd spent the weekend camping and exploring the hills around Roanoke. He could still see the bits of leaves and twigs tangled in Tash's auburn curls. It was a good memory.

The pressure of Annie's fingers on his wrist drew him back to the present.

"Can you see it?"

Auggie took a breath and Tash's image dissolved into nothingness. "No, not really. But the sun's in my eyes," he added, giving her hand a pat.

"The sun's behind you, smartass," she retorted, but her answer lacked its usual spark.

"I know."

"I'm sorry," she added.

"Why?"

Annie didn't answer.

'Annie?" Auggie reached for her cheek and was surprised to find a hint of moisture. "It's that beautiful?" He felt her nod against his touch.

Auggie wasn't sure how to respond. No woman aside from his mother had ever cried for what he couldn't see. "It's okay, you know."

"I know. I'm just being silly."

"No, you're not. Now come on, this is getting entirely too serious. When are you going to take this picture you promised?"

Annie sniffled, and laughed. Then, leaning back against the guardrail, she took out her phone. "Smile" she said and snapped a picture of the pair of them with the brightly colored hills and brilliant blue sky in the background. "Perfect!"

"Make sure you send me a copy. I'll frame it and keep it on my desk."

"You're going keep a picture of us on your desk? Why exactly?"

"So you can describe the look on Jai's face when he sees it."

* * *

><p>Joan caught the gaze of the man in the lab coat as he entered the waiting area. "Dr. Varga!" she called.<p>

"Joan Nelson," he answered with an uncertain smile, threading his way through the crowd. "Is that truly you?" he asked when he reached her side. She seemed thin and drawn, and bore little resemblance the firecracker he had met in Budapest so many years ago. But there was no mistaking those eyes. "It is so good to see you after so many - "

"Not here," Joan whispered. Then louder, "It's downright claustrophobic in here, Doc, can we go outside?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Follow me."

Joan cast a quick glance about the room, then followed Varga outside.

"It's been a long time," Joan."

She smiled. "Yes, it has been. I was surprised to hear from you. After we said good-bye, I didn't expect to hear from you ever again. I always thought you would have returned to Hungary. It's a prosperous country now."

"I considered it... briefly," Varga answered, "but my work, and my friends are here. I visit now and then, but this is home now. I've even become an American."

"Congratulations, Charles. I know that couldn't have been easy, not after everything you risked for your country."

"We both took risks."

Joan smiled broadly. "Yes, we did. What matters is that they paid off."

They found a bench and sat beneath the trees. "It's been over twenty years, Charles, why reach out to me now?"

Varga hesitated. "You are still... still in the same line of work as you were in 1989?"

Joan shot him a quizzical look. "Why do you want to know that?"

"A former student of mine, a researcher sent me some data that didn't make sense to her. It doesn't make sense to me either, Joan. I thought... maybe..."

"What kind of data?"

"Case studies. Patient records. Statistics dealing with treatments and outcomes"

"That's not exactly my field."

"They were VA records."

"Still not my area. I can get them to the proper authorities, and then maybe - "

Varga silenced her with a look. "I was asked to look for patterns, similarities, Joan. In all the confused data, only one thing stood out. They were Special Forces. They worked for your people."

Joan said nothing for a moment. Instead she rose and began to pace slowly back and forth in front of the bench, channeling the fierce energy that coursed through her veins into an outward semblance of calm. When she felt certain her voice would not betray her she asked, "What do you have, exactly, Charles? Be specific."

Varga looked around, then answered in a whisper. "Results of experiments and unauthorized treatments. Off-label medication. Off-the-record therapies..."

"And these were experiments on U.S. veterans?"

"Yes."

"What kind of experiments?"

"I don't know... There are no details, only data as to the results."

"Who were the patients?"

"I don't know that either. I have no names, only numbers, regiments, and dates of deployment."

"Are the experiments still going on?"

"I don't know that either. The data comes to a sudden stop six months ago. I'm sorry, I wish I had more for you."

Joan ceased her pacing. "This student of yours... how did she come across this data? This doesn't sound like the sort of thing that people just leave lying around on their desks."

"She was researching PTSD and other psychological disorders among veterans, analyzing treatment outcomes. Looking for trends, patterns..."

Joan nodded. "And what does she have to say? Why isn't she here?"

Varga looked around nervously. "Is your car nearby?"

"In the parking lot."

"Come then, Joan. We will pay her a visit."

* * *

><p>Annie watched as Auggie stepped cautiously over the threshold and set his bag by the door. "So, tell me about this place."<p>

"It's a nice room, a fair size for an older building, fifteen by twenty or so, I'm guessing." She brushed the back of his hand and he prepared to follow her lead around the room. "We're in a sort of mini-foyer here. To the left of the door, there's a closet, and next to that, the bathroom. The room opens up here and there's a couch, a floor lamp and a couple of chairs on this side, and a desk on the right."

Auggie's cane struck a flimsy structure. "What's this?" he asked reaching out.

"A wooden screen, looks like an antique. It separates the sitting area from the sleeping area."

Auggie nodded as his mind began filling in the blanks. He located the bed, an armoire and a field stone fireplace. "Quite the romantic hideaway, as far as I can tell."

"Moving right along. There's a flat screen tv above the mantle. Then the door to my room, and we're back to the desk."

Auggie waggled his eyebrows. "There's a connecting door between our rooms?"

"You are incorrigible. I'm going to unpack and freshen up, Auggie. I suggest you do the same. A cold shower maybe? Meet you at six then we can go downstairs for drinks."

"Sounds like a plan," Auggie called, as he continued exploring his surroundings.

A short time and a shower later, Annie head a quiet knock on the connecting door.

"So I guess we're not locking this?"

"Probably safer not to, while we're in the rooms at least." Auggie's expression held no trace of his usual mischief.

"Okay, but just because you're the senior officer.

"Deference, finally!" Auggie exclaimed triumphantly. He stepped through the doorway and stopped just beyond the threshold. "So how's your room laid out?"

"A mirror image of yours. Let me grab a wrap and I'll be ready."

Annie returned to find Auggie gazing out the window. "Enjoying the view?"

"You know, it's the same as the one I see from my room."

"Considering it's dark out, there's not much to see."

Auggie grinned. "Just want to make sure the Agency's getting its money's worth." Serious again, he added, "Tell me what's out there."

"Playing the Eagle Scout again?"

"It always pays to be prepared."

"Well," Annie began, "there's no balcony, but you probably knew that already from having checked out the hotel online. Since we're on the third floor, we do have a nice view over the pool, garden and surrounding buildings."

"What kind of surrounding buildings?"

"There's a cabana at your nine o'clock with the pool to the left of it, and what might have been a carriage house or stable at two. There's a large verandah on the ground floor at our six o'clock, which overlooks a garden at twelve."

"That's good to know, in case I wake up with a craving for garden fresh Brussels sprouts."

Annie laughed. "You are a very strange man, Mr. Anderson."

"It's all part of my allure, Miss Walker. So, I'm guessing there's no private way to get down there from here?"

"There are two emergency exits, one at each end of the hallway, but you already knew that, too." Annie touched Auggie's arm. "Why are you scoping out escape routes."

"Force of habit, I guess. By the way, I ran a quick electronics sweep while you were getting ready."

"Find anything?"

"Nope. It's clean."

"Should I be on my guard?"

"You should always be on your guard, but no more so here than anywhere else," he added with a grin. "Don't worry. I'm just overcautious. We're here for a funeral. We'll take advantage of some New England hospitality on the Company's tab, pay our respects, and head home with fond memories and grist for the Langley rumor mill. You ready?" Auggie asked, reaching for Annie's elbow.

Annie locked the connecting door before joining him. "Ready."

They had only taken a few steps down the corridor when Auggie came to a sudden halt.

"Forget something?"

Auggie chewed his lip, looking genuinely concerned. "Annie, there aren't that many hotels around here. There's a good chance we may run into some of my army buddies downstairs."

"Is that a problem?"

"They know my employer..." he continued cryptically.

"...But they don't know mine... " Annie added, completing Auggie's unvoiced thought.

"Exactly. Might be best if we head down separately. You go first. I'll wait a few minutes and meet you in the bar."

"Okay." She took a step,stopped, and turned around. "Auggie... how are you going to find me?"

Auggie reached for her shoulder, and drew her close. He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, leaned in, and closed his eyes as he breathed in her scent. "Jo Malone Grapefruit and verbena shampoo." He stepped away, with his eyes still closed and a blissful smile on his lips. "If I have to sniff every neck in the place, trust me, Annie Walker, I will find you."

Jukebox music and a hum of voices guided Auggie towards the bar. Somewhere not too far off his right, a man was speaking in hushed tones to a companion who responded in giggles. At the far end of the room, good natured ribbing and laughter indicated a group of friends, workmates maybe, celebrating the arrival of the weekend with a few drinks, and, if he wasn't mistaken, a game of darts. This place must be the local version Allen's, he thought and smiled... minus the spooks, of course.

The rattle of a cocktail shaker told him the bar was just a few steps ahead and to his left. He found the first barstool with his cane, then trailed his hand along the backs of the seats, until he encountered warm skin and a familiar scent. "I'm so sorry," he smiled in a manner that held no hint of remorse. "I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't see you there."

"That line seems well-rehearsed. Does it usually work?"

"Never failed me yet," he answered as he folded his cane and took a seat. "May I buy you a drink Miss..."

"Walker. Anne Walker."

"Well, Miss Anne Walker, what are you drinking?"

They were on to their second round, heads close in conversation, when a familiar drawl sounded at Auggie's back. "Anderson! You dog!"

"Curtis!"

"Yeah, it's me, Bro. Dammit, even blind, you still manage to zero in on the prettiest girl in the room."

Auggie stood up, and reached out his hand. Instead of the expected handshake, he found himself gripped in a bone-crushing hug.

"Dude, you must have some crazy kind of sixth sense when it comes to women," a second voice chimed in from behind Curtis' shoulder.

"Still leaves me with only five," Auggie laughed. "Graham, how's it going?"

"I'm good. You're looking a damn sight better than when I last saw you," the younger man added.

"I am better," Auggie replied. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you guys. I won't ever forget that." Auggie listened for more familiar voices, but the noise level in the bar had risen steadily since he'd first arrived. "Anyone else here that I should know about?"

"Josh has a table over in the corner, if you want to join us." Curtis cast a glance in Annie's direction. "Unless you had other plans."

"Just give me a second." Auggie turned to Annie. "Gotta run, Honeybun. He leaned in closer and handed Annie his phone. "Give me your number?" She gave it back a moment later. "Later, doll," he said with a wink.

"Dammit, Auggie, I dunno how you do it," Curtis muttered as he guided his friend to the table.

"What can I say? The ladies love a blind guy. Tommy here?"

"Nah. He's on a mission. Libya, I think. We're at the table," Curtis said, placing Auggie's hand on the back of a vacant chair.

From across the table, Auggie heard a chair being shoved back, and the faint but distinctive sound of a hydraulic knee. "Josh! How you doing, man!" he said reaching out his hand. It was soon clasped in a firm, calloused grip.

"I'm good, Auggie. I'm getting the hang of things. It's good to see you! Wish it were under better circumstances."

"Me, too."

They settled into their chairs, drawing close around the table, even as a pitcher of beer appeared.

"Courtesy of the gentleman at the end of the bar," the waiter explained. "Sam Hayward, a Korean War vet. For years he was head of the local Legion branch. He's slowing down a little, but there still isn't much that happens 'round here that he doesn't notice."

Auggie and his friends raised their mugs to the old man. "Think it's true," Graham asked, "that old soldiers never die?"

"I dunno," Curtis replied, "But the young ones sure do." He raised his glass. "To absent friends."

"Keep on leading the way up there, Ranger," Auggie added. "You'll have some good men up there with you, Frenchie."

Taking another drink, Mike added, "We won't forget. Once a Ranger..."

"...always a Ranger!" they responded in unison.

They drank in silence a while, thinking back on old times and remembering the friends they had lost along the way. "So, Auggie," Curtis asked after a time, "did you find out anything else since we talked?"

He shook his head. "No. I was hoping you might know something. What about you, Graham? You were over there with him on his last tour."

"You know what it's like. What we do... it hasn't gotten any easier... or any cleaner.."

"It's like the song says," Josh broke in, "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss."

"There's still bad guys out there," Curtis added. "Someone's gotta stop 'em. Might as well be us."

Auggie frowned. "So who was he after last time 'round?"

Graham leaned in close. "Adam Yahiye Gadahn," he whispered.

Auggie frowned. "He's American."

"A homegrown terrorist. An American who urges his followers to kill Americans from his compound in Pakistan." Curtis' voice grew harsh. "He's got hundreds of messed up Muslim kids over here committing to Jihad. He wants another 9/11. American or not, I've got no qualms about takin' him out if he should ever wander into my sights."

The group fell silent. "So what happened?" Auggie asked after a while.

Graham took a long drink before answering. "I dunno. One day he gets this phone call, and takes off in a Humvee without saying nothin' to nobody. When he gets back a few days later, that's when he starts talking 'bout quitting."

Josh broke in. "Look, guys, we all know what it's like. None of us comes back unscathed. Some of us come back in a box. Some, like me and Auggie with parts missing or broken. And some, like Frenchie, with something broken deep inside, that can't be seen on the surface."

Graham shook his head. "We seen and done some crazy shit. You know that. But whatever happened to Frenchie on that mission...whatever his orders were, it was bad enough to make him give up his career. He couldn't get out fast enough. And once he was out, that's the last we heard from him."

"Because you're all still in." Auggie thought back to his own conversations with Frenchie. His former lieutenant had seemed pleased to hear from him, glad to be a civilian again. Auggie prided himself on his ability to read voices. If anyone had asked him at the time, he would have said that Frenchie sounded just fine. Happy, even. He replayed their last conversation in his mind. He could still hear his friend's lighthearted banter. What had he missed? What was he missing still?

A hand on his shoulder drew him back to the present. "Auggie, man, you okay?"

"Yeah, Curtis, just thinking..."

"You know, maybe it really was just an accident..."

Auggie nodded, although his instincts told him otherwise. "Yeah. Maybe I'm just overthinking."

Curtis slapped him on the shoulder. "You always were one to think too much. He got out. He went to therapy to help him ease back into civilian life, and before he could really enjoy being a farmer, he hits a patch of ice, and that's it. You know, when your number's up, it's up."

Auggie straightened up "He went into therapy?

"Yeah, a few months after he got out. He told me he was seeing a VA shrink."

"Did he tell you why?"

"Said he needed to work some things out. I figured it was just part of the exit protocol. Look, didn't you go to therapy when you got out?"

"Yeah, but it was probably for different reasons. And I didn't see a VA shrink."

Graham put down his beer with an audible thud. "Why don't you just come out and say it. You think Frenchie killed himself."

Auggie shook his head. He leaned in closer to the group. "I don't want to think it. I don't know what to think. All I know is that the accident story doesn't add up."

"Why would he kill himself?" Graham asked. "All he ever talked about was taking over the family farm."

"Let it go, Auggie," Josh said. "You're like a dog with a bone. He's gone. Let him rest in peace."

"You're right," he said, and he emptied the last of his beer. He flipped open the crystal of his watch and felt the time. "It's been a long day and it's getting late..."

"... not to mention there's a hot blonde that's waiting for you," Curtis added.

He unfurled his cane to an accompaniement of hoots and whistles. "You guys know me too well. See you tomorrow?"

"We'll be there."

He entered his room and was making his way to Annie's door, when he crashed into a chair. Muttering a curse under his breath, he returned the chair to its proper place beneath the desk. Moving more slowly now, he continued making his way to the connecting door. and stumbled over a waste basket. A waste basket he clearly remembered having moved next to the dresser and out of his way. His senses alert, he ran his hands over the desk and dresser. Everything was still there, but slightly out of place. A shiver of apprehension crept up his spine.

Someone had been here.

_To be continued._


	5. Requiem

_Author's Note: I am so**, so **sorry this chapter took so terribly long. I didn't mean to keep you waiting. It just didn't want to come together. I'm still not entirely satisfied with it, but if I want this story to move forward I need to get this one out. As always reviews, comments, and your kind suggestions are most welcome._

_Thanks for all the reviews and alerts. Every single one is precious to me. Thanks also for your patience. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations._

_Enjoy._

**Chapter Four: Requiem **

Someone had been here. Might still be here.

Beyond the displaced furniture was the lingering trace of a curious, resinous scent that hadn't been there earlier. Immobile, and with every nerve alert, wishing that he could see again just for a minute or two, Auggie listened for evidence of the intruder's presence: a betraying breath or the whisper of clothing, but beyond the faint and distant sounds drifting up from the bar downstairs, there was nothing. Whoever had been here was either gone... or very skilled.

Auggie returned to the door. He ran his hand along the wall until he found the light switch. The lights were on. He tried to remember but wasn't sure if he had turned the lights on when Annie came over earlier. Had Annie turned them on? And had she remembered to turn them off when they left? He leaned his head against the door, annoyed at himself for not having paid attention to that detail when Annie was here. Knocking on Annie's door and asking her was also out of the question. The visitor probably knew who he was, and might even know Annie's identity, but, as Joan had pointed out, they weren't here on a mission. He was just here to bid an old friend a fond farewell.

A thought occurred to him. Whoever had been in his room might well have planted a camera, a bug, or both. It's what he would have done back in the day. He smiled grimly and flipped off the light. No point in making it too easy for whoever might be watching him.

Then, slowly and carefully he began making his way around the room. To a casual observer, his cautious movements would have appeared normal, the natural hesitation of a blind man in an unfamiliar environment. With his cane probing the space before his feet and his free hand examining every surface within reach, Auggie checked the bathroom, the windows, the fireplace, and the space behind the armoire. Once, a quick glance would have told him all he needed to know. That was no longer an option. He dismissed the bitterness and regret and focused on what he could still learn.

His circuit about the room left him reasonably certain that whoever had been here had come and gone. He discreetly examined all of his belongings, his clothing, luggage, and the electronics that traveled with him wherever he went. As far as he could tell, the intruder hadn't tampered with anything, but he'd be the first to admit his resources were somewhat limited when it came to locating anything beyond the reach of his fingertips. He decided against running an electronic sweep. That course of action would alert whoever might still be watching.

He pulled out his civilian phone, brushed his fingers over the screen, listened as the electronic voice went through his list of options, and double tapped on the first name at the top of his favorites list. He winced as he heard the ring through the median wall. Hopefully, the sound was too faint to be picked up by any device planted on this side.

"Hey, Auggie," Annie answered. "What's up?"

"Are you doing anything? You want to meet me in the lobby?"

"Auggie, I'm tired," she answered. "I'm getting ready for bed."

"Great," Auggie replied, forcing a smile into his voice. "I'll meet you downstairs in five minutes."

"What's going on? Oh, never mind. See you in a few."

He was waiting in the lobby, toying with the strap of his cane, when Annie arrived. "In the mood for a nightcap, a late evening snack?" she asked, dubiously.

He caught her elbow and directed them both in the general direction of the exit. "You driving?"

Annie corrected their course, and they stepped out into the late September evening. Although the weather was warm for the season, the wind carried a hint of cooler days ahead. They reached the car and Annie placed Auggie's hand on the door handle.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asked.

He slid into the passenger's seat. "Nothing's going on. I'm just in the mood for pizza... or maybe a burger. Or sushi, maybe? What's open?"

Annie knew Auggie hated sushi. She took the hint, and the rest of the drive unfolded in silence. Twenty minutes later they were sharing an order of fries at the local Burger King. "So, are you planning on reading me in any time soon, or are we going to keep pretending we're on a middle school date?"

She was half expecting one of Auggie's sarcastic comebacks, but his face was serious. "Take a look around and tell me if anyone looks familiar. See anyone you might have seen earlier at the hotel?"

Annie scanned the restaurant. "There's just a handful of teenagers over in the far corner. They were already here when we arrived. There's no one else."

"Are you wearing the same clothes you had on earlier?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Think carefully," he said. His face was troubled. "Was anything out of place when you got back to your room ?"

"No."

"How about the car?"

"No. Auggie, what's going on?"

"I don't know who," he answered, shaking his head. "but someone entered my room while I was downstairs."

"Are you sure? Not that I doubt you, Auggie" she hurried to add, "but I was in my room the whole time, and I never heard a thing. How do you know?"

"Trust me, I know. Things were moved. A chair was out of place, and my bags had been searched and moved. Besides, there was a smell..."

Annie was confused. "What kind of smell?"

"Resinous... like pine needles ... and something else I can't quite place."

"Like cologne?"

"God, I hope not!"

"Maybe the hotel staff brought in fresh firewood?"

Auggie gave a dry chuckle of laughter. "You were never a Girl Scout, were you?"

"Never stayed in one place long enough. Why?"

"Because," he explained, "one of the first things you learn at Scout camp is that you don't use resinous wood for your fire. It burns too fast, and produces creosote that gums up a chimney. So, no, the scent wasn't from firewood."

"Okay, Mr. Eagle Scout, what else did your visitor leave behind?"

Auggie shrugged. "I don't know..."

"You could run a quick sweep."

"And let whoever it is know I'm onto him? No, we need to play this one close to the vest."

Silence fell between them . "Okay," Annie said at last. "So what do you want me to do?"

"First, I need you to check the car for a tracker."

"How am I supposed to do that, Auggie? It's pitch dark out. Those things are tiny."

A tight grin tugged at the corners of Auggie's mouth. "Would this help?" he asked, holding up what appeared to be a keychain flashlight.

"I already have a flashlight, Auggie. I'm curious as to why you have one, though."

"To rescue damsels in distress," he quipped. "It's more than a flashlight. It will also pick up a tracker signal. When it does, all you have to do is find and remove the actual device."

Annie shook her head. "And a suddenly dead signal won't arouse suspicion?"

"We won't kill it... we can relocate it. I'm sure ours isn't the only black car in the parking lot."

"How did you ...oh, forget it." By this time, Annie's smile matched Auggie's. "You are a sneaky, devious man, Mr. Anderson."

"I prefer 'cunning' but thank-you Miss Walker." He fell silent for a moment. "When we get back to the inn, I need you do take a quick look around our rooms. Look for a bug, or a camera, anything out of place, but do it in a casual sort of way, as if you were looking for something you might have dropped or misplaced.

"Has it occurred to you that your intruder just might be going through my room while we're here?"

Auggie grinned. "The possibility did occur to me, but it's a chance worth taking. We done here?"

Auggie followed Annie's lead out of the restaurant, and waited while Annie quickly scanned their rental for a tracker. A sustained buzzing confirmed Auggie's suspicions. A moment later, Annie pressed the paper-thin tracker into his hand. "Is there another suitable car nearby?"

Annie looked around, and carefully peeled the device from his palm. "Yeah, hold on, I'll be right back."

The Friday night crowd had thinned somewhat by the time they pulled in to the hotel parking lot. "So, what's up next?" Annie asked as she moved around the car and offered Auggie her arm.

"You want to stop by my room for a nightcap?" he responded with a wink as they moved away from the car.

"And..."

"And a quick look 'round the places these babies can't see," he said, wiggling his fingers. Annie paused at the foot of the wide wooden verandah. "Four steps up."

Auggie nodded, but when she tried to move forward, he held her back. "You didn't happen to bring your encrypted phone, did you?"

Annie reached around the back of her skirt's waistband, pulled out the phone and handed it to him. "Never leave home without it."

"Good girl," Auggie smiled, and gave it back. "Get me Tech Intel."

"You're bringing Eric into the loop?

"He owes me one. More than one, actually. He can start paying off the debt by hacking into the NSA's scanners and see if they pick up any signals from this place, without letting them know we're onto them. It might take a while. He'll have to wait for the right satellite signal. Until then, we'll just have to act normal"

"We're spies, Auggie, acting normal in abnormal situations is what we do." She dialed Barber's number, and handed the phone back to Auggie.

"Hey, Barber... you want to help me forget the French Dip incident?"

* * *

><p>Saturday morning found Auggie sitting in the lobby, waiting for Curtis to pick him up, sipping coffee, and listening to the local TV news. Annie had thought it best not to attend Danny's funeral, seeing as his buddies thought she was just a casual fling. Instead she would drive out to the scene of Danny's accident and take a look around.<p>

Barber had called back just as Auggie had been stepping out of the shower. The good news was that he'd been able to piggy-back onto the NSA satellite undetected. The bad news was that he'd have to wait for the satellite's next pass to run a scan of the area. Barber urged patience, and Auggie begrudgingly acquiesced. He couldn't have done any better himself. This circumstance was completely beyond his control.

He leaned back, took a deep breath, and turned his attention back to the inane banter between the two news anchors. The local broadcast contrasted sharply with Auggie's usual D.C. morning news fix, and he marveled that there was even enough happening in the region to fill the 30 minute slot.

By the time Curtis arrived, Auggie knew all there was to know about apple festivals, farm and studio tours, and a string of late night mailbox beatings near Middlebury. As they drove out of town, to the small town where Danny had been born, raised, and would be now buried, he wondered why there had been no mention on the newscast of Danny's death and funeral. Was it old news by now, and less of a ratings draw than the opening of the apple festival? Perhaps the silence was simply a show of natural New England reserve, a sign of respect while the locals closed ranks around the bereaved family. Auggie hoped that was the latter rather than the former. He fervently hoped it wasn't a third troubling possibility: that the suspicious death of a troubled vet had become such a routine occurrence that it no longer elicited any sympathy all.

Auggie's worries on that point were allayed when he felt the car slow down.

"We there?" The car lurched and dipped, causing him to grab hold of the dashboard. "What the ..."

"The parking lot is packed. We have to park in the pasture across the road."

"What, no handicapped parking?"

"Oh..." Curtis cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry, Auggie...I keep forgetting."

"It's okay, man. I'll take that as a compliment. But next time, I'm driving."

Josh and Graham were waiting by the church steps when they arrived. "Looks like the whole town turned out."

"Sounds like it, too." Auggie took a deep, steadying breath, and tightened his grip on Curtis' elbow.

Curtis felt the change and noticed his friend's unease. "It's okay, man."

"I know. I just don't like crowds. Never did." Well, that wasn't entirely true. Back when he was in the field, crowds often provided a welcome escape route, and he'd evaded countless pursuers by melting into them. As a soldier, however, he had quickly learned to be wary of any gathering of more than a two or three people. Crowds were perfect targets for suicide bombers, insurgents, and drive-by shooters. At least back then, he'd been able to gauge a crowd's mood..."

He shook that thought away. He would not crawl back into that dark place of fear and self-doubt today. This was Vermont, not Baghdad, for chrissake! He adjusted the angle of his cane, and loosened his grip on Curtis' arm. "Let's go, guys. Let's get this over with."

* * *

><p>Annie eased the rental car onto the shoulder and popped the hood. Traffic was light this morning; she'd only seen one other vehicle since taking the cutoff road. Anyone driving by this on this quiet Saturday morning would assume she'd had engine trouble and had set off on foot for the nearest town.<p>

Evidence of the accident was already fading. A winter's worth of snow plows and road salt would soon scour away the police markings from the roadway. In the spring, new foliage would hide the shattered trees and shredded top soil.

Annie waited crouched in the trees, watching for other observers. Only when she had made certain that no one else was around, did she cross the narrow roadway, climb over the twisted guardrail, and scramble down the steep slope.

Deep scars on the hillside, and a trail of broken saplings indicated where the truck had left the road and tumbled down the steep ravine. A crushed mat of foliage showed where it had finally come to a stop. Annie bent close to the ground hoping to find something that the initial investigation might have overlooked. But the site was bare. There wasn't so much as a drop of blood or a piece of shattered glass to show where the wreck had occurred. It was almost as if a clean-up crew had been here.

* * *

><p>The funeral mass was brief. It had always struck Auggie as odd that a man's whole life, his experiences, his joys, his sorrows, could all be wrapped up in the space of an hour. Story over. Turn the page. Close the book.<p>

After the burial, Danny's family held a small reception at the local Legion hall. "Dang, looks like every woman in town brought a covered dish," Curtis observed. "I've never seen so much macaroni and cheese."

Josh grinned, and elbowed Curtis. "Gee, Curtis, didn't you go to college?"

"Yeah, but this is the good stuff. Not the boxed crap I lived on back then. This is genuine church social food, made by fat church ladies.

Auggie laughed. It felt good to laugh again. "I dunno. That stuff never appealed to me. I've always been more of a ramen man myself."

"Sorry, Auggie. No ramen noodles here. You're out of luck. You'll have to settle for... whoa, is that a country ham I see?"

"Easy, cowboy! Do you see Frenchie's wife?" Auggie asked, wanting to offer his sympathies.

Curtis scanned the room quickly. "Yeah, I think I see her over there."

Auggie shot him a quizzical look. "Over there?"

"She's sitting at a table over by the side door. There's a crowd of teenagers around her. She looks like she'd rather be anywhere else."

"That's understandable. Take me over to her, okay?"

They threaded their way over to the front of the hall, and waited with several others to present their condolences. The young people surrounding Danny's widow took stock of the four serious-looking men. "You gonna be okay, Mrs. B., if we go check out the buffet?" a tall red-headed kid asked. He sounded nervous.

"Yes, I'll be fine, Dalton. You guys go and eat. Your moms all brought something."

Dalton took a last look at the four soldiers. "Just holler if you need anything."

Curtis gave Auggie a slight nudge when the boys were gone.

"They're all good kids," Laurie Bolduc explained. "I think they feel responsible for me now that Danny's gone..."

"Mrs. Bolduc?" Auggie asked, holding out his hand. "I'm August Anderson. My buddies here and I served with Danny in Iraq. We're all so terribly sorry for your loss."

For a moment, she said nothing, as she noticed the cane and the unfocused gaze. "Oh," she stammered, and clasped the outstretched hand. "Captain Anderson. Thank-you so much for coming. I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were... I mean...Danny never said... I would have..." She paused and took a breath. "I'm coming across as a total moron, aren't I?

"It's the cane," Auggie said with a gentle smile. "It turns perfectly intelligent and articulate people into blabbering idiots."

"That's a powerful device. Make sure the Pentagon doesn't lay its hands on it."

Auggie stifled a chuckle at her smooth recovery. Fast thinker. A smart lady. She and Frenchie were well-matched. He couldn't quite recall what she looked like, but he remembered that Frenchie had kept her picture by his bunk. He also remembered that she was a science teacher at the local high school. Those boys must have been students of hers.

He held out a Smithsonian business card. "I owe Danny a huge debt, one I'll never be able to repay. If there's anything, anything at all I can do to help you or your family, at any time, just call me. The number on the back is my private line."

"Thanks, but.."

"I mean it. I have a lot of resources. I know a lot of people."

She seemed to be taken aback by his offer. "Danny said..." her words were interrupted by the arrival of another mourner. She thanked her and turned her attention back to Auggie. "Are you returning to D.C. today?"

Auggie shook his head. "I'm here for the weekend."

"I can't leave right now, but I want to talk to you, when all this is over. If you're not pressed for time. She lowered her voice, and Auggie had to strain to hear. "I don't know when I can get away, but Danny said there were things you needed to know..."

He raised a finger to his lips, and smiled. "I'll wait around here a while. And if today doesn't work out, just call that number on the back of that card when you can get away."

She nodded, and gave his hand a squeeze. "Thank-you. I will. Thanks."

Walking away, Curtis shot Auggie a look of reproof. "Picking up widows at a funeral, Auggie? That's in poor taste, even for you."

Auggie rolled his eyes. "That is un-funny in so many ways..."

"C'mon," Curtis replied, threading their way through the crowd. "The least we can do is get a free meal out of this lousy situation."

Just then, two men rushing through the hall jostled them as they made their way over to the tables, nearly knocking Josh off balance. Auggie froze, then sniffed at the air, and tightened his grip on Curtis' arm. There it was again. That strange piney smell!

"Auggie, what is it?"

"The men who just moved past us. Did you see their faces?"

"No. They were just a couple of guys in dark suits. They're heading for the exit."

"Follow them. Try to get a picture of their faces."

Curtis pulled Auggie through the room, not questioning his former captain's command. But their way was blocked by the untimely arrival of a group of young boys. By the time they reached the door, the two men were climbing into a black SUV.

"I'm sorry, Auggie. We missed them. They're pulling out of the parking lot."

"What are they driving? Can you get the plate number?" From somewhere behind him, he heard to familiar click of a cell phone's camera.

"Got it!" Graham said.

"Great! Send it to me, will ya?"

"Sure, no problem." Graham hesitated. "Wait, dude, you're blind. What do you want with a picture?"

Curtis spun him around, saving him from having to explain his request. "Auggie, care to tell us what the hell just happened here? "

* * *

><p>Annie gave the crash site one long, last, scrutinizing look. She took some pictures and, defeated, hiked back up the hill to her car. Climbing back over the guardrail, she noticed two long streaks of paint scraped along the length of the bent and twisted railing. There were plenty of markings on the guardrail, but these ones looked fresh, and ended where the railing dangled over the edge of the ravine.<p>

It was a long shot, but right now, it was all she had and the closest thing to evidence that she had found. She rooted around her handbag for a nail file, went back to her car and returned with a couple of sandwich bags. Carefully, she scratched at the paint until a few colored flakes fell into each bag. It wasn't much, but it was the best she could come up with. All she could hope for now was that someone in one of Langley's labs might be able to make something of it.

* * *

><p>"It's probably nothing," Auggie said, feeling around his plate for his napkin. Having located it, he reached inside his jacket for a pen, and scrawled out a short message as his friends watched.<p>

CHECK EACH OTHER FOR BUGS. BE DISCREET.

The three men sprang into action. To Auggie's ears, it sounded like his guys had just broken into a bad imitation of a Three Stooges routine. He groaned inwardly. "Subtle" was not in these guys' vocabulary.

"Your turn," Josh said, awkwardly pulling Auggie to his feet.

He checked his pockets and lapels while the others pretended to dust him off. A moment later, someone tugged his arm, and pressed a small disc-shaped object in his hand. They were smart enough at least not to ask him if that was the bug he was looking for. He examined it with his fingertip, then carefully placed it on the floor and ground its beneath his heel. "Okay, now we can enjoy our lunch."

Curtis shot him a useless look of irritation. Auggie could feel the gazes of the three men weighing upon him. "Someone has been tracking my movements," he said at length. "I'm pretty sure one of those two men broke into my room last night."

"No offense, Auggie," Graham interjected, "but how would you know?"

"I know. The guy who broke into my room reeked of some weird piney scent. The smell lingered even after he left. One of the guys that planted that bug on me had that same smell."

"Why would anyone be following you here?" Curtis asked.

"Beats me."

Auggie felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. There were only two people who might call him, neither of whom he wanted to talk to in public. "Hey, guys, I need some fresh air. Anyone want to come along?"

"Just let me finish this," Curtis said around a mouthful of chicken.

Graham pushed back his chair. "Forget about him, Auggie, he's got an hour's worth of food on his plate. I'll go with you," he said, moving close to Auggie's side. Although he had watched Curtis guide Auggie through the hall, he tensed when he felt his hand on his elbow.

Auggie sensed the younger man's discomfort. "You okay with this?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry Auggie. I guess I just need a little time to get used to this."

"S'okay. I did, too. Ready?" he asked, unfolding his cane.

"Yeah. Any particular destination?"

"Anywhere that doesn't have a crowd."

Graham led him outside, through a cloud of tobacco smoke, around a corner, and into an enclosed area behind the hall. "It's some kind of receiving area, like where trucks might make deliveries. There's a fence about ten feet in front of us, a stack of wooden pallets..."

"Anyone nearby?"

"Naw. Nobody here but us two."

Auggie nodded and filed away the information. Using his cane, he began tracing the perimeter of the small enclosure. Within a few steps his cane struck what sounded like plastic. "Chair?"

"Yep. Two of 'em."

He leaned against the pallets. "I could really use a cup of coffee. "

"Right," Graham said, with a knowing smile. "Gimme your phone."

Auggie looked puzzled. "I'm punching in my number. Call me when you're done doing whatever secret thing it is you suddenly need to do." He put the phone back in his hand. "Wouldn't want the coffee to get cold."

Auggie smiled and listened as Graham returned to the hall. He punched in the number to his voicemail. He listened for a moment, then called Barber. "Hey, buddy, how's the fishing?"

"Oh, hey, yeah...fishing," Barber stammered. "No bites on our first time out, but we got a few nibbles the second time."

"Still looking to hook the big fish?"

"Always. But the water's kinda rough. We're looking for a better fishing hole."

"Call me when you find it. And call our sister on her house phone. She'll want to hear all about your fishing trip."

"Will do. Keep your phone close."

Smiling, Auggie slid his fingertips over the screen, and tapped on a new number. "Yo, Graham, you coming with that coffee?"

* * *

><p>The crowd was beginning to thin, but Laurie was still surrounded. Auggie, sitting at a table, swirling cold coffee around the bottom of foam cup, was beginning to wonder if she would find time to speak to him today. Josh and Graham had left, and Curtis was talking about heading back, too. Auggie was debating whether to stay and call a cab, or leave with Curtis when a chair scraped next to him.<p>

"Captain Anderson?"

Auggie turned towards the unfamiliar voice. "Do I know you?"

"Sam Hayward," the stranger said. "I ran this Legion branch for a while before my misspent youth started catching up with me."

Auggie smiled as he recognized the name. "Hayward? From the bar last night. We didn't quite meet, but thanks for the beer."

"The least I could do for you young guys. Special forces unless I'm mistaken?"

"Rangers. We all served together in Iraq.

"That where you lost your sight?"

Auggie had to admire the older man's bluntness. "Yeah. Danny got me out after I got hurt. "

Hayward pulled a chair and sat close to Auggie. "It's a shame, a damn shame. He was a fine young man. Solid and well-liked. He helped out our older vets, brought 'em to doctor's appointments and such. He was good with the kids too. Helped his wife at the high school and coached the bantam hockey team. He's leaving an awfully big hole in this town."

That sounded just like Frenchie. Even when his own life was unraveling, he found time for others. "I can't wrap my head around it," Auggie admitted. "It just doesn't make sense."

"A lot of things 'round here haven't been making make sense for some time, son."

"What do you mean?"

The older man looked around and leaned in closer. "There's not a whole lot round here for our kids to do after high school. The military has always been a good option. A lot of our young folk joined up after 9/11."

"Danny was one of them?"

"Yup. He was away at college. Joined the ROTC and shipped out the day after graduation. Surprised the hell out of me. I always thought he'd go straight into farming. It was in his blood. He had dreams for the Bolduc family farm. Was going to go all organic..."

"He made a damn fine soldier," Auggie said.

"I don't doubt it. Once that boy put his mind to something, he always saw it through. And he was proud to serve. That's why we were all so surprised when he came home, and said he didn't want to have anything to do with the army, the Legion. Like I said, he helped out our older guys, but that was the extent of it."

Auggie shook his head. This didn't sound like the Danny he knew. "Was he depressed?"

Hayward shrugged. "I'm no shrink. But it looked to me like he was angry more than anything. I tried to talk to him a couple of times, encouraged him to join our group here. Last time I saw him, he said he was done with the military, that he'd given the best of himself, and he just wanted to piece together what was left and try to make a life for himself and his family.

Auggie appeared to be staring at the bottom of his cup. After a quiet moment when neither man spoke, Auggie broke the silence. "He was seeing a therapist at the VA."

"Yeah, so did a lot of the young vets around here. Can't say it did them any good. Like I said, I'm no shrink, but it looked to me like those kids were better when they first came home than they were after they started going to those VA therapists. And then without a word of warning to anyone, they just go and close down that behavior unit..."

"What do you mean?" Auggie asked looking up.

"Just that. One day they just closed up shop. The Behavior Unit shut down. Just a sign on the door. Not even a phone number to call. That's the government for you. The kids who needed more care, like Danny, were Baker Acted and sent off to in-patient facilities in New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and New York."

Auggie sat up straight. "Danny was committed?"

"Yeah," Hayward sighed. "His wife fought tooth and nail to get him out. He got out and we were all ready to handle him with kid gloves... Thing was, he didn't seem sick when he went in. He was just like any guy who needed to deal with wartime memories. And he didn't seem any different when he came out. He was just a good kid who got caught up in the bureaucracy."

"Sam, you know any other guys from around here that went to therapy at the same time as Danny?"

"Yeah, a couple."

"Were any of them sent to the in-patient clinics?"

"Well, I don't get around as much as I used to, but Danny was the only one from around here. There was another kid, a Seal from Williston, I think, and another one from out near Brattleboro. I can't recall his name."

"Do you know what branch?"

"Marine. Force Recon."

* * *

><p>"Nothing,"<p>

"What do you mean 'nothing'?" Auggie walked into the bar with Annie, his hand lightly clasping her elbow. "There had to be something left behind, a piece of plastic, a shard of glass, something..."

Annie found them a table at the far end of the room, within sight of the bar and the door, but far enough from the other patrons to avoid being overheard. "Auggie, I combed over the scene. There was nothing. Not even a CSI crew could have found any evidence."

They placed their orders.

"I found paint on the guardrail. I scraped some off..."

"But?"

"But it might not even be from Danny's truck. I mean, do we even know what color his truck was?"

"We can find out," Auggie said, "and we can send your sample down to the lab. At the very least, they should be able to I.D. the make." Auggie was doubtful that a few flecks of paint would lead to anything actionable.

"That's not enough, Auggie."

"No, but it's somewhere to start."

Their food had just arrived when Auggie's phone rang.

"That might be her." He answered. "Anderson."

"Captain Anderson? It's Laurie, Laurie Bolduc. I know it's late, but can you come over to the farm?"

"Yeah, I'll be right over." He hung up. "Annie, are you up for another drive?"

_To be continued_


	6. The Living and the Dead

_Wow! I am touched and humbled by all the reviews and alerts. Thank-you so much. _

_I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Warning: angst alert. Yup, things get a little emotional this time around. If the muses play nice, I should have the next chapter up before the fall premiere in eight days (yes!)._

_As always, thanks for reading, and enjoy!_

**Chapter Five: The Living and the Dead **

Dave Ross exited the service elevator, pushing a custodial cart before him. Wearing the dull gray of the maintenance staff, with ear buds in place, and an iPod in his shirt pocket, he was indistinguishable from the scores of maintenance and housekeeping workers, and as good as invisible.

Bethesda Memorial's Surgical ICU was quiet, with visiting hours long over only non-employees present were the next of kin holding vigil at the bedsides of the most critically ill and injured. Ross acknowledged the staff at the nurses' station, emptied the trash cans, and gave the surfaces a quick wipe. At least, he was so far down on the totem pole that he wasn't trusted or expected to deal with medical waste. Next time Henry had a job for him, he hoped the old goat would remember this, and reward him with a nice beachside mission. Yeah, right. A guy could always dream.

In spite of the late hour, hushed voices drifted from a sitting room nearby. Ross pushed his cart towards the ICU waiting room where a family huddled close for comfort. A woman in a lab coat held a stack of NCR forms, handing them over one at a time for signatures. Ross adjusted the volume on his iPod, and began making his way about the room, picking up empty cups and discarded food wrappers, sweeping crumbs off the floor. He emptied the trash cans and sprayed disinfectant over the furnishings. When the family left, he pushed the cart back into the hallway, ducked into a utility closet and pulled out his phone.

"Sit Rep!" Henry Wilcox commanded.

"The family's here, sir," Ross whispered. "discontinuing life-support. They've given the hospital permission to harvest Bell's organs. It'll all be over in a couple of ours."

"It's about time. Stick around until the show's over. Keep an eye on the family, and let me know if they ask any inconvenient questions."

"Yes, sir." Ross fell silent as footsteps drew near and slowed near his hiding place. They paused a moment, then continued down the hallway. Ross resumed, "Sir, do you want me to come by the house with my report?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Henry snarled. "The last thing I need is for you to be found lurking 'round here when the press shows up. Stay at the hospital till Bell is bagged and tagged, and then get back to headquarters. Lay low and await further orders. Our business is over for now."

* * *

><p>Auggie rubbed at his eyes, and heaved a heavy sigh.<p>

Annie stole a quick glance at her passenger. A crooked smile played across her features and a hint of mischief crept into her voice. "That sounded like a sigh... a troubled, weary sigh."

"Back off, Walker, that's my gig. You stick to the visuals." But Auggie's retort lacked its usual snap.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Auggie shook his head. "What's there to talk about? I'm about to sit down with the widow of the friend who saved my life. A friend I didn't help when he was in trouble."

"Auggie, we've been over this before. Drop it. You didn't know he was in trouble. You didn't turn your back. He didn't reach out. And, as good as you are, you're not a mind-reader. Enough with the self-flagellation."

Auggie threw up his hands. "Okay, I surrender... so, any pointers?"

"What? The legendary August Anderson, super-spy extraordinaire, asking a rookie for advice? Puhleeze!" Annie laughed, attempting to lighten the mood. She could tell that Auggie was nervous. " She invited you. She called you, didn't she? You'll just turn on the Anderson charm and she'll be putty in your hands."

Auggie made a vague noise of acknowledgement if not agreement.

Something in Auggie's confession, however, had piqued Annie's curiosity. Now was as good a time as any to indulge that troublesome trait. "Danny saved your life?"

"Yeah... after the ambush. He got me out. It's a long story... and we are almost there," he added.

"What? How do you know?"

Auggie held up his phone. The GPS app was lit up. A moment later it announced their destination. A long gravel drive led to a white clapboard farmhouse. Annie shifted the car into "Park". "What do you want me to do, Auggie?"

Auggie seemed surprised at her question. "You're coming with me, aren't you?"

"Won't my being there raise questions?"

"I think she'd have more questions if a blind guy just showed up here alone, out in the middle of nowhere. C'mon." He stepped out of the car, unfolded his cane and waited for Annie to join him. "I don't know if Danny ever read Laurie in on what he actually did for the Army... or the Agency. But she's smart. She probably knows that I can't tell her everything I know. At least, I hope she knows," he added after a brief pause.

Annie tossed him a quizzical look, but said nothing as they made their way up the walkway. Warm golden light spilled out through lace curtains. Annie paused even as Auggie's cane sounded against the bottom step with a hollow thwack. "Porch?"

"Yeah. Three steps."

"Frenchie used to talk about this place all the time. What does it look like?"

"Like it was lifted out of a Norman Rockwell painting."

Auggie tightened his grip on Annie's arm. "Let's do this," he said. A dog wuffed from inside the house.

Annie rang the door bell, and while they waited she cast a quick glance through the kitchen window. "Four people in the kitchen. An elderly man sitting at the table. A plump forty-something woman hovering by the sink, and a balding man is leaning against the counter. A tall, red-headed woman wearing a UVM sweatshirt just stepped out of the kitchen and is headed this way."

The red-headed woman came to the door, a golden retriever bouncing around her feet. "Captain Anderson, please, come in," she said through the screen door. She grabbed at the dog's collar. "Clancy, settle down!" "Don't mind him, he's more likely to lick you to death than bite you," she said, ushering them inside. "Danny's sister and her husband are here," she whispered. "So's his father, but he hasn't been well. He was diagnosed with dementia just before Danny came home. I don't know how much of this he understands."

To Auggie, the Bolduc kitchen smelled of generations of family meals prepared and shared in that common space. Meat, vegetables, sweets layered one meal over the other in an unbroken rhythm ever since Danny's grandparents had first built this house. Homey smells. Comfortable smells.

"Captain Anderson," Laurie touched his arm. "This is Danny's father, Leo-Paul Bolduc."

"My days in the army are long past. It's Auggie, now. Just Auggie. This is my friend, Annie Walker."

With no auditory clue as to the older man's location, Auggie could only hope he was holding out his hand in the right direction. He felt Annie move his forearm slightly to the left, where thin, dry fingers clutched at his hand. "Mr. Bolduc, I'm so sorry for your loss. Danny was a fine soldier, and a true friend."

The older man said nothing but gripped Auggie's hand a little tighter.

Laurie pried her father-in-law's hand from Auggie's. "Let go, Papa, Auggie needs to meet the rest of the family."

"But Danny's not here yet..." Mr. Bolduc protested.

"No, he's not, Papa, but Jeanette and Frank are."

Jeanette stepped up and firmly gripped Auggie's hand. "Sorry 'bout that. He's exhausted, and when he's like that the line between past and present get a little blurry. He thinks today was mom's funeral all over again."

"I'm so very sorry," Auggie said. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you all." He shook Frank's hand next. Soft hands, he noticed. Not a farmer's hands.

What would happen to the farm, Auggie wondered, now that Danny was gone? Maybe Danny's brothers would help out. He remembered that Danny had come from a large family, too. In the dark days following the ambush in Tikrit, Auggie and Danny had shared stories of sibling rivalry and shenanigans.

He dragged his thoughts back to the present as they exchanged courtesies over coffee. Before long the conversation turned to kids and school. Jeanette, it turned out, taught at the same school as Laurie. "That's how Danny and I met," Laurie explained. "One day, he was helping Jeanette with some A/V equipment, when I happened to stop by. The rest, as they say..."

Auggie was wondering how to approach the subject of Danny's time in treatment when Frank broke in. "Get two teachers together, and you can be sure they'll start talking shop, no matter what the circumstances. Honey, it's getting late, we'd better go rescue the sitter."

"Are you sure you're okay to stay here alone Laurie?"

"I won't be alone. I have Papa here to keep me company."

Laurie escorted them out, then returned to the kitchen. She got a drink of water and sat down. "Finally! They mean well, but...they've all been here, non-stop it seems, since the accident. I need time alone to process all of this."

Auggie nodded. "When I first came home from Iraq, my family crowded around me. They meant well, but the effect was suffocating. It was the same.. I needed time alone. Time to lick my wounds and to try to figure out how to move on..."

Annie was surprised. Auggie was not usually this candid.

"The crazy thing is," Laurie continued, "I expected this. Every day while he was deployed. I'd fall asleep at night praying God to keep him safe, and wake up in the morning praying that today wouldn't be the day that the men in the dress uniforms showed up at the door." She paused to blow her nose. "I was proud to be an army wife, but think I only got my first full night of sleep when he told me he was out for good. I figured we had made it through the worst, now we could settle down, start a family, have a normal life..."

"No one is ever prepared." Auggie said, shaking his head. He shifted his gaze towards her, wishing he could read her expression. "You said Danny wanted to see me. That there were things he wanted me to know."

"Yeah, just give me a few minutes, okay?" She turned to Danny's father. "C'mon, Papa, it's been a long day. Let's get you to bed."

Auggie listened as the two made their way slowly upstairs. "Annie, are we alone?"

"Just you and me and the dog."

"Impressions?"

"They're decent, hard-working people who've been through the wringer. Laurie's exhausted, but trying to keep it together. The old man looks lost. Jeanette looks like she's the efficient type, but doesn't know what to do, and Frank looked like he just wanted to find an easy chair, a beer and a remote."

"I know how he feels."

"They don't look like the kind of people who would have let Danny spiral into despair."

Auggie gave a weary smile. "Danny was pretty good at keeping secrets. Maybe he never let on how bad things really were."

Laurie returned a few moments later carrying a thick Manila envelope. "Danny wanted you to have this." She pushed it across the table, until the edge touched Auggie's hand. "He said that if anything ever happened to him, you would know what to do.

Finding the prong, Auggie lifted the flap. He reached in and pulled out a spiral notebook and a bundle of photographs held together with a binder clip. Absently, he ran his fingers over the lot. "I can't do much with this," he said, chagrined.

"They're pictures of you and him and some other guys in uniform. The notebook is sequences of numbers and letters. Army codes I'm guessing. Maybe he didn't know you wouldn't be able to see them."

"He knew," Auggie said quietly.

Laurie hesitated a moment, then continued. "He said you might find them interesting. There are names and dates on the back of the pictures. They don't mean anything to me, but I could read them to you, if you like, and describe the pictures."

"That's okay. I'll find someone to help me with them." Whatever was in these pictures, Danny had felt it was important enough that he should pass the information on to the Agency. Auggie didn't want Laurie involved more than she already was.

A hand brushed against his knuckles. He turned his hand over, and found a small plastic rectangle pressed into his palm. He ran his fingertip over it. An SD memory card.

"He wanted you to have this too," Laurie explained. "I tried to look at it, but it's password protected."

"This, I can work with," Auggie answered, pocketing the card. "Thank-you."

"He really wanted to see you again."

"I know. I'm sorry." Auggie had known it was coming. He had braced himself, but when it came, it wasn't an accusation so much as an expression of regret and missed opportunities. He took a deep breath and reached across the table, palm up, hoping she'd allow him to take her hand. She did. He closed his other hand over hers.

"Laurie, I am so sorry I didn't take Danny up on his invitation when he asked. I knew he wanted to see me, but all I could think was that he sounded so happy when we spoke. I didn't want to show up and be a reminder of everything awful we had left behind."

"I don't think he saw it that way when he invited you, Auggie."

"Maybe not, but I did. You know how it is when old soldiers get together..."

She gave a rueful laugh. "Kind of like teachers? You talk shop?"

"Yeah. The last time Danny saw me, I was at my very worst. I didn't want to revisit that place, not with him, not with anyone. This may come as a surprise, but I can be a bit of an asshole at times."

Annie snorted.

"I heard that, Miss Walker." The conversation was veering into dangerous territory. Time to shift to a different topic. "Laurie, I found out that Danny had been seeing a therapist, that he spent some time in treatment..."

Laurie took back her hand, and ran a manicured fingernail around the rim of her glass. "When he first came back, he was having trouble sleeping. He'd be up at all hours of the night. I asked him to tell me about it, and he said it was just stuff from the war, and he didn't want to trouble me. After a few months, he decided to join a support group at the VA clinic. He thought it might help."

"Did it?" Auggie asked.

"At first he thought it was helping, but then the therapist suggested he go for individual sessions. He'd gone to only two sessions, when, without a word of warning, the behavior unit suddenly closed down. The next day, while I was at school, a social worker showed up here with court papers ordering Danny into a residential behavioral treatment facility. A psychiatric hospital. They'd Baker Acted him! I found out when Papa's home health aide called me at school. She told me that they sedated Danny right here on the front porch, and dragged him out to a waiting ambulance before I could even get home from work."

"Did they tell you why?"

"Have you ever tried getting information from a government agency?"

It was Auggie's turn to snort. If only she knew.

"It took me a week just to find out where they'd taken him. Another two weeks to find out why. Get this, according to the paperwork Danny was a danger to himself and others. That's a laugh. Anyone who knows Danny..."

Auggie heard her push her chair away from the table. She began pacing in front of him. "Danny would never have raised a hand to anyone. Even when he'd gone without sleep for days, he never lost his temper. He'd get angry, sure, and upset, but he was always controlled."

Auggie nodded. That was part of their training. Losing control of your emotions only put you and your team in danger. He thought back to those terrifying days in Tikrit in the aftermath of the explosion, even when he'd been half mad with pain, grief, and fear, there had been a part of him that managed to rein in his rage. He hadn't been able to do much back then. Danny had been the one to channel his anger into something useful, into something that would get them both out alive. He rubbed his brow, and dragged his thoughts back to the present. "So, how did he finally get out?"

"I spent days on the phone. I wrote letters. I went to Montpelier and camped out in the governor's office. I spoke with people in Washington. I rallied the town. Danny was a hometown boy. Everybody liked him. I got the hockey moms to take up the fight. Finally, the local media got wind of it. All I wanted were answers. If Danny really was sick, I wanted him to get treatment. But I wanted to be part of the process. Finally, after two months, I get a phone call on a Sunday evening. It was Danny. He was at the bus depot in Burlington. Wanted me to pick him up."

"Was he sick?"

"I didn't think so. But when he got back, the nightmares were even worse. And he was so sleep-deprived, he started having hallucinations even in broad daylight. I was really scared. One of the teachers I work with, his wife is a psychiatrist. I persuaded her to see Danny, off-book, to try to figure out what was wrong. She told us he was suffering from paranoia. Well, that didn't come as much of a surprise, after everything he'd been through. She prescribed some anti-anxiety meds, and a sleep aide, and urged him to see a civilian therapist who specialized in PTSD."

"Did he?"

"Yeah. That and the meds together seemed to be helping. He was sleeping again. Not jumping at every sound. He started seeing this guy about a six weeks ago. And then the accident happened."

Auggie said nothing while he sorted through everything Laurie had revealed. One question, the proverbial elephant in the room, had yet to be asked. "Laurie, I know this is painful, but I need to ask, is there any chance that Danny might have taken his own life."

"God, no! Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"I'm sorry," Auggie replied. "But I'm sure you can see why people might think that."

Laurie ceased her pacing and sat down again. "Danny was upset. He was angry at the army and at the VA for what they had put him through, but he wasn't depressed. He was so relieved to be home. He just wanted to settle down, and get the farm back up and running. He had plans for the future." She fell silent for a moment. "Look, I shouldn't tell you this. It's pretty early, and we wanted to wait a while..."

Annie took in Laurie's loose baggy top, the glass of water amid the coffee cups. "You're pregnant!" Annie blurted out. Auggie's jaw dropped.

Laurie nodded, and pressed a hand to her still flat abdomen. "We just found out three weeks ago. Danny was so happy. He had always wanted a family. He wanted a house full of kids. We had decided to wait until he was out of the army. He wanted to be home and healthy for this baby." She choked out a sob. "He wanted to a part of his children's life."

Auggie's mind was reeling. No matter how bad things seemed, Danny wouldn't have taken his own life. Not when he knew he was going to be a father. Family meant everything to Danny. He turned to Laurie. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go on. It's what Danny would have wanted. I'm going to try to make a decent life for us. Danny has ... had a big family. Three brothers, two sisters. They'll keep the farm going. They know what this place meant to Danny."

Auggie gave a sad smile. He flipped open the crystal of his watch and checked the time. "It's awfully late, and I can only imagine how exhausted you must be. We should be on our way." He stuffed the pictures and notebook back into the envelope and stood up.

She walked them to their car. "I'm glad we finally met."

"Me, too. I only wish it had been under happier circumstances." Auggie paused with his hand on the car door handle. "If you ever want to talk, just call. I'm told I'm a good listener."

Laurie placed her hand over his. "If you find anything, on that memory card..."

"I'll be sure to let you know."

* * *

><p>They drove back into town in silence. Auggie was trying to process everything he had learned to day from Hayward... from Annie... from Laurie... trying to work fit all the pieces together, trying to fill in the blanks. But one thing kept breaking his concentration. "Annie, whatever it is that's bothering you, would you just come out and say it?"<p>

Annie shook her head. "Just thinking. Maybe it's nothing, but it's something I can't help wondering about."

"While chewing a hole through your lip?"

"Did you ever read Arthur Conan Doyle?"

"Sherlock Holmes?" Auggie threw her a confused, off-center gaze. "Yeah...why? What are you getting at?"

"Sherlock Holmes said that once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Auggie... if Danny didn't kill himself, and if the accident wasn't an accident, then that leaves only one other possible explanation..."

"Yeah, I know." Auggie sighed and pressed his eyes shut. "Danny was murdered."

_To be continued..._


	7. Smoke and Mirrors

_Thanks again, everyone, for all the reviews and the story alerts. You stroke my ego and keep me motivated. Thank-you._

_As an aside, was anyone able to make out Joan's maiden name on the college degree hanging on the wall in Joan's office? It appeared at the 26:57 mark in episode 2.11? The obsessive-compulsive historian in me hates getting details wrong._

_Without further chitchat, here's chapter six. Thanks for reading and enjoy._

**Chapter Six: Smoke and Mirrors**

"Damn it, Frenchie!" Auggie pushed his headphones down around his neck and leaned back in his chair. He raked his fingers through his messy hair and rubbed his tired eyes. Funny, he thought, how after all this time his eyes still ached sometimes after a long night in front of a screen, even when they weren't doing any of the work.

He checked the time. Six-fifteen. This was hardly the first time he'd pulled an all-nighter, and he was lucky in that he'd never needed much sleep. His apartment was quiet, and in the stillness, he could make out the early morning sounds from the surrounding units as his neighbors began to stir. Time for coffee. He pushed away from his desk and ambled into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot.

Danny's voice echoed in his ears, as he paced the length of the counter. _"They were American kids, Auggie. Americans, dammit!" _

He might still make it into the office early enough to catch Joan before the business of day caught up with her. But was this something he wanted to discuss within Langley's notoriously porous walls?

While the coffee brewed, he made his way into his room, got dressed, then shoved his bed off to the side. He rolled up the rug, uncovering a carefully loosened plank, the twelfth from the edge of the wall. The plank concealed a small safe he had installed when he had first purchased the condo. He keyed in the combination and retrieved one of the burn phones he kept there.

Returning to his desk, he burned Danny's intel on to two flash drives, and secured both with an encryption of his own design. He placed one drive in his pocket, the other he locked in the safe along with the photos and notebook Laurie had given him. He repositioned the plank, the rug, and the bed, returned to the kitchen, and switched off the coffeemaker. He'd get a coffee at the diner instead. He stuffed his laptop, headphones and Braille display in his messenger bag, grabbed his jacket, keys, i.d. and cane, and headed out the door.

* * *

><p>Annie hurried down the long hallway from the food court to the DPD, a cup of coffee in each hand. Snaking her way through the in-coming day shift, and the outgoing night-shift, she backed through the department's double glass doors, spun around, and made a beeline straight through the bullpen to Auggie's office. In recent months, she had gotten into the habit of coming in a few minutes early so that she could start the day by sharing coffee and a few laughs with her handler.<p>

This morning, however, Auggie's office was dark, which was not unusual in itself, though he usually remembered to turn the lights on for the team's benefit. But here she was, past eight o'clock with the computers and peripheral equipment still turned off, and no sign of Auggie anywhere.

She made her way to her desk, and paused, looking back over her shoulder.

"Coffee? For me?" Jai grinned. "You shouldn't have."

"I didn't. But looks like you might inherit it. Hope you like it black." She deposited the beverage by Jai's keyboard. "Anyone see Auggie this morning?"

Jai shrugged. "He hasn't shown up yet. Maybe his car service is running late."

Annie slid into her chair, powered up her computer, and picked up the phone. Auggie answered after one ring. "Hey, what's up. Are you okay? You need a ride?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be in a little later. I have something that I need to take care of here."

"Is it about..."

"Look, I gotta go. Talk to you later, okay?" And with that, he hung up.

Annie stared at the phone for a moment before hanging up. "Okay, that was weird..."

Jai glanced over his monitor. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's just not like him, that's all. I mean, he's never late. He never calls in."

"Only that one time. Was there someone with him? Someone with a Russian accent?"

Annie flicked a paper clip at him. Dodging Jai's returning fire, she turned her attention to her report on the Vilnius fiasco, which Joan would be wanting by day's end.

* * *

><p>"Time to go save the world," Arthur Campbell said, walking up the steps to the main foyer of the CIA.<p>

"Another day, another crisis," Joan replied, as they made their way through security.

"Meet me for lunch?" Arthur asked.

Joan's reply was interrupted by the chirping of her NOC phone. She cast a quick glance at the number. "Unknown caller" was all the screen showed. She looked at Arthur and shrugged. "Data and Statistics," she answered, "How may I help you?"

"Joan, it's me."

"Auggie, what's going on?"

"Can you meet me for breakfast?"

"Yes, of course. Where?"

"Place on 18th Street called _The Diner_. We've met there before. I'll be waiting."

Joan hung up, and looked at Arthur. "Sorry. I need to meet someone. I'll call you."

"Is this something you want to tell me about?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Not yet... "

Arthur watched as Joan headed back towards the parking lot. He knew better than to press her for information in the middle of an operation. He trusted her. Besides, he had other ways of finding out what was going on.

* * *

><p>Annie finalized her report and hit the "send" button. She looked up towards Joan's office. The door was shut and the blinds were drawn. With any luck, some pressing crisis was diverting her boss' attention from the Vilnius mission, and the whole ensuing comedy of errors would be filed away and forgotten. With any real luck, she'd get a new mission before Joan had any further questions on the last one. A nice, long mission that would keep her out of the office until this report was buried beneath a thick layer of dust.<p>

She swallowed a mouthful of cold coffee. Normally at this time, she'd be making the first coffee run of the day, stopping by Auggie's office as a formality. He still hadn't arrived, however. She'd questioned Stu, Eric, and a few other techies, but no one seemed to know where Auggie was, or seemed unduly concerned.

She sighed and set down the empty cup. Reaching into her in-basket, she pulled out the translation she'd been working between assignments. Busy work, but maybe it would keep her mind occuppied, too, at least until she could get some answers.

* * *

><p>"Joan!" Auggie grinned. "I was wondering when you'd show up."<p>

Joan sighed and shook her head, throwing Auggie a look of defeat that she knew was utterly wasted on a blind man. "I'm not even going to ask how you do that," she conceded, and slid into the booth.

Auggie laughed.

"So, how was your trip?"

"Interesting," Auggie replied enigmatically.

"I had a feeling this was more than a breakfast date."

"Actually, I have some interesting travel anecdotes to share. And the breakfasts here are great. I recommend the egg-white omelet."

Joan made a quick survey of the restaurant. The place had emptied of its early crowd of D.C. commuters, while students and locals lingered at the counter a while longer. An appreciative smile flitted briefly across Joan's features. Even blind and chained to a desk job, Auggie had lost none of the skills and instincts that had made him a such a superlative field officer. The booth he had chosen was situated at the rear of the restaurant, away from the windows, close to the kitchen and the rear exit. And while his back was turned to the door, the place he'd saved for Joan offered a clear view of the restaurant entrance, something he knew she would appreciate. The nearby booths were empty, so that no one would eavesdrop on their conversation.

He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "We're not the only ones interested in the circumstances of Danny's death."

"Really? Does this have anything to do with why Barber was breaking into the NSA's database?" Joan asked in her boss voice.

"Maybe. Did he get anything?"

"Maybe," she echoed. "What was he looking for?"

Auggie took a sip of coffee, while the waitress came and took Joan's order. When her footsteps melted into the background, he continued. "Someone was tracking our movements. My room was searched and bugged, the rental car was tagged with a tracker, and someone tried to plant another bug on me at the funeral. Barber owes me. If he comes through, I'll be in his debt."

"So you don't have anything?"

"I have questions, suspicions," Auggie admitted. "Nothing actionable... not yet."

Joan cast Auggie a probing look. "What do you mean 'not yet'? You know the boundaries we work with. What you're telling me is already well within the Bureau's jurisdiction, and hacking the NSA... Dammit, Auggie, are you trying to get our asses hauled before the DNI?"

"Then don't think of it as an investigation," Auggie replied with a wink. "Think of it as gathering domestic intel."

"Nice try." Joan paused, choosing her next words with care. "Auggie, I know this means a lot to you. I know you feel you have a personal commitment..."

"I do have a commitment, Joan. That's why I need you to look at this." He pulled out the laptop and inserted the flash drive, then slid the computer across the table.

* * *

><p>Arthur Campbell stood at his office window, looking out over the wooded parkland that surrounded CIA headquarters. "Son of a bitch, he muttered beneath his breath, then louder again. "Son of a bitch!"<p>

He returned to the file on his desk, and read it again, hoping that perhaps, in his haste to digest the information, he had misread the memo. But the words were there, plain, clear, and unequivocal. Henry Wilcox was being nominated to head the State Department's Bureau of Intelligence and Research. The official announcement would come at week's end.

Of course it would. By Friday business would be winding down on Capitol Hill. Staffers would be running the ship while elected officials headed home for the weekend. Even the media outlets pulled their reporters back to their offices by Friday noon.

"Son of a bitch" he muttered again. How many strings had the old bastard pulled? How many favors had he called in to wrangle that nomination? As Assistant Secretary of State of the INR, Henry Wilcox would have access to all the intel from every alphabet agency in the country.

There would be hearings, of course, the nomination would have to be approved by Congress, but Henry had files on everyone. For that he rivaled J. Edgar Hoover. A few choice words spoken to the right people, and he'd be back doing what he did best: making life hell for the rest of the intelligence community.

* * *

><p>"<em>Auggie, man, don't worry 'bout me. You know I can take care of myself. All I need is a little time to work things out. But those other guys, I dunno... they're pretty messed up. If you can find out what's really going on down there and who's behind it all, you might be able to get it stopped, and help these guys. You always got us home before, and I'm trusting you figure out how to get those boys home, too."<em>

Auggie listened as Joan stopped the video and leaned across the table.

"That's a hell of a lot to process" she said. "Do you think he's telling the truth?"

Auggie shrugged. "What would he gain by lying?"

"Revenge on the company?"

"I dunno. Laurie said he just wanted out."

"He was hiding something."

Auggie shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm not the most reliable person when it comes to reading body language, but I know voices. He sounded tired, anxious, angry even, but I don't think he would try to play me."

"Can you be sure?"

"As sure as I can be of anyone. This is Danny we're talking about. This guy knew me better than anyone."

"And he knew you felt indebted towards him. That's some powerful leverage."

Auggie leaned his head back against the banquette. "You know he wasn't like that, Joan. How did he look?"

"Rough. Tense. Fidgety. Dark circles under his eyes. Keeps looking towards the right. A door I imagine."

"Did he look ill?"

"Not particularly." She reached across the table and grasped Auggie's arm. "You've got to destroy that video, Auggie."

"What?" Auggie jolted upright. "You can't be serious. We've got to shut down their program..."

"I know Danny was your friend," she said, moving her hand to Auggie's wrist. "But right now, all the evidence we have is a cell phone video made by a traumatized, troubled ex-soldier. No names. No data. Nothing actionable. Hell, Auggie, I can't even give this to the Bureau... and if it falls into the wrong..."

"It won't." Auggie drew his hand away. "Jesus! I can't believe I'm hearing this from you, Joan. You heard him. They made him do their dirty work. And when he decided he'd had enough, they shut him away. They beat and tortured him. They used him as a guinea pig and pumped him full of drugs to make him forget. And when he still remembered, they killed him."

"What?"

"You heard me, Joan. It wasn't an accident. And this is our side we're talking about. The 'good guys' remember?" Only years of discipline kept Auggie's voice a whisper. He wanted scream, to hit something. He wanted to storm out the door, and handle this himself.

"Do you have any proof?" Joan asked.

"Not yet. It's more like an absence of proof of anything else. He didn't kill himself, and the accident scene was sanitized. It was so clean it was practically sterile."

"How do you know?

For a quick moment, Auggie wondered how much he should reveal, but this was Joan, his boss, but also his friend, and he decided to come clean. "Annie checked it out."

"You got Annie involved?"

"It's not as if I could do it myself. And before you start reading me the riot act, it was her idea, not mine."

"And you didn't try to stop her. You are her handler."

"Joan, this is Annie we're talking about. When she gets an idea in her head... well, you've seen what happens."

For a long time, Joan said nothing. Auggie could almost hear her thinking. He could almost hear her inner debate between trust and protocol.

"I don't know if this is connected in any way..."

"But?"

"But that old asset I told you about, the one whose research assistant was sorting through VA data? Well, he called me yesterday to tell me that the assistant died over the weekend."

"Foul play?" Auggie asked.

Joan shrugged. Not in any way we can prove." Again, she paused. "We need to turn this over to the Bureau," she said after a long moment of silence. "We're out of our jurisdiction. The Bureau investigates federal agencies. If they find out we knew or even suspected something and kept quiet, we could both end up in prison."

Auggie heard a rustle of fabric, and reached out, hoping to connect with Joan's hand. By chance he did and found her phone.

"No, Joan. Not yet. Please?"

"Auggie, you seem to need reminding that we are not a criminal investigation agency."

"Who's investigating? I'm only looking for some answers. Just give me a little time to find something solid. Right now, it's all smoke. There's nothing solid to hold on to. As soon as I find something... anything actionable, then I promise, I'll turn it over and you can give it all to the Bureau. Hell, I'll call them myself."

Auggie's phone rang before Joan could say anything. He listened, gave a few terse orders and hung up.

"Well?" Joan asked.

"That was Barber. He traced the signal of the bug they planted in my hotel room. Care to hazard a guess where it was transmitting to? Auggie could imagine Joan throwing him one of her looks of detached curiosity. "You doing some of that non-verbal communication, Joan? 'Cause I gotta tell you, it's not really working for me."

"August..."

"He traced the signal to Langley."

"Regardless of what I say, you're going to move forward with this aren't you?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Joan took a moment to consider. "Auggie, if I sanction this... and I haven't said I would, you can't involve anyone else."

"What about Annie? She's already collected evidence."

"I thought you said the accident scene was sanitized?"

"She scraped some paint off a guardrail. The chances are slim to none that it'll match anything."

"And then there's Barber...The point is," Joan continued, giving Auggie's hand a squeeze, "you've involved three people already. The more people involved, you know this, the greater the risk. You hinted at it yourself. Whoever is behind this isn't afraid to kill to keep the secret. The fact that it might be an inside job increases the risk exponentially."

Auggie didn't respond immediately. A thought that had been forming ever since he had first listened to Danny's recording, finally became fully clear. "There is one way I could dig around, and find out what happened without involving anyone else."

Joan drew a sharp breath of surprise. "You can't be serious! Auggie, are you out of your mind?"

"You said it yourself, Joan. Danny was a traumatized and troubled ex-soldier. Who better to find out what happened to him than another traumatized and troubled ex-soldier?"

"Auggie, we've been over this before. You are not sanctioned for field work."

"I can do this, Joan. You know I can. I don't need eyes for this."

"Just because you can, doesn't mean that you should. I can't sanction this."

Auggie nodded. "Can't or won't?"

"Does it make a difference? For your own safety, you shouldn't be out in the field."

"I have to do this, Joan."

"I know."

* * *

><p>A short time later, Joan gave a cursory knock on the door jamb of Arthur's office. Arthur looked up from the file he was reading. "Joan! You're back." He glanced at his watch. "It's a bit early for lunch, isn't it?"<p>

She walked in closing the door behind her. "Arthur, we need to talk."

"Funny you should say that. I was about to say the same thing to you.'

_To be continued._


	8. Need to Know

_So sorry for the delay. For some reason, between Halloween and New Year's Day, I turn into Martha Stewart, and any writing time is given over to cooking, cleaning, shopping, decorating, and other festive nonsense ;)_

_Thank-you so much, as always, for all your reviews, suggestions, alerts, and notifications . Special thanks to Mandy58 for allowing me to borrow her character Marty Hunt. I needed a tech/engineer/Q-type character, and never could have come up with anyone better on my own. If you haven't yet read "Collide" or any of Mandy's other great fics, drop what you're doing, leave this page, and go read it. Now. Go on. Go! I'll still be here when you're done :)_

_Happy Holidays, everyone, and enjoy! - M&M_

**Chapter Seven: Need to Know**

Annie had expected to be the first one in the gym, hoping to spend some quality time with the heavy bag. Four separate missions in the three weeks since her side trip to Vermont had played havoc on her work-out schedule. In spite of the early hour, however, she found that someone was there before her. She shook her head in disbelief as the room's single occupant pummeled the heavy bag with furious intensity. By the sheen of sweat that glistened on his body, and the way his hair clung in damp curls to his forehead, she could tell that he had been at it quite some time.

As silently as possible, she set her bag down and slid to the floor to watch the early morning light play on his form, and skim over his muscles. He paused for a brief moment, drew his forearm across his brow, and, reaching out to locate the bag again, renewed his attack with savage precision.

"I don't know what that bag ever did to you, Auggie," she called out some time later, when he finally slowed down, "but I think it's about ready to cry 'uncle'."

Auggie turned around slowly, catching his breath. "So, Miss Walker, after staring at me for the last twenty minutes, now you decide to speak? If you've done staring, would you mind handing me my towel?

"Right, like you knew I was there?" she replied, with more than a hint of skepticism.

"You should know by now, that I can always tell when you're around," he said with a cheeky grin.

"I'm wearing running shoes, gym clothes and no perfume, Auggie. I could have been anyone."

"You could have been, but you weren't." Auggie made his way over to the weight machines.

"C'mon, Auggie," Annie replied, touching the towel to the back of his hand, "how did you even know I was there?"

Auggie laughed. "Sorry, blind guy secret."

Annie watched as he adjusted the resistance on the machines. Auggie was incredibly fit, even by Agency standards, but lately he seemed to be pushing himself even harder. "So, what's with all the training? Are there some kind of spook Olympics I haven't heard about?"

"You know, I would totally rock that stadium, if there were."

"Totally. Especially the hurdles."

"Ouch, Miss Walker, that hurt," Auggie replied with a snort of laughter.

"So, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Eventually."

"Okay..." Annie knew better than to press him. She'd known him long enough to know how secretive he was, and that he would tell her the truth when he felt the time was right. In a life and career built on lies, Annie sometimes felt that the only honest relationship she had was the one she had with Auggie.

"And by the way, Walker..." Auggie called out as she made her across the room to the treadmill. "For future reference, at the spook Olympics, my competition wouldn't stand a chance."

* * *

><p>"Auggie, my office."<p>

Auggie listened as the door closed silencing the sound of Joan's footsteps. He pulled his attention from the ops he'd been monitoring, and listened intently to the muffled sounds drifting in from the various work stations of the DPD. He crossed over to his office safe, and pulled out a thick envelope. "Stu, you still here?"

"Yeah, boss."

"Keep an eye on my screens while I go bring Joan up to date, will you? Things are quiet for now."

"No problem. In trouble?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Auggie replied with a wink.

A moment later he knocked quietly on the frame of Joan's door.

"Come in. And shut the door."

He found the couch and sat down, waiting. The sound of Joan's heels was muffled by the office's thick carpeting, and he had to work harder to follow her movements. Across the room, he heard Joan shut the blinds, shielding their coming conversation from the curious eyes of the DPD staff.

"So what's up?" Joan asked, sitting next to Auggie.

"Annie should be on her way back from the Smithsonian, where she spent the day doing cover maintenance at a seminar on the Hudson River School. Holman and his crew are conducting a covert entry in Alexandria at the home of our favorite Iranian importer and should be checking back in..." he touched the face of his watch,. "... about twenty minutes. Mark is in position in Tirana, waiting to make contact with Leka. Lina has made contact with Mrs. Leka, as Plan B, in case Plan A with the hubby falls through. I should be hearing back from them by secure e-mail. But," he added, "you probably knew all that already."

"True. What about your ... extra-curricular project?"

Auggie took a deep breath, handed over the envelope he'd been holding and listened as Joan leafed through the pages, wishing he could read the expression on her face as she processed the information.

"Is it all here?"

"Everything I've been able to gather so far. In that envelope you should have plans of the facilities, lists of staff and patients, maps of the surrounding areas, law enforcement and alphabet agency officers in the area.

"There are still a lot of blanks."

"Only one way to fill them..." Auggie could feel the weight of Joan's disapproval.

"I should send in someone else. Someone with ̶ "

"Working eyes?" Auggie interjected.

"I was going to say 'more resources'."

"Same thing." Auggie rose from the sofa. In a more familiar setting, he would have started pacing, but although he was somewhat familiar with the layout of Joan's office, he was not comfortable enough here to trust his memory. Fettered by his blindness, he sat back down in frustration. "Joan, I know I have limitations, but have you forgotten what I used to be? It isn't all lost. I still have the training and the experience that you need for this type of mission."

"Auggie, your SERE training, your Special Forces experience, your field experience, everything you've accomplished since then ... they still don't make up for the fact that you can't see."

Auggie didn't respond at once. He could understand Joan's reservations. Hell, five years ago, he would have felt the same way! He knew what he was up against. "Joan, if you have anyone in the DPD who is better suited to the job, then I will gladly step aside."

"You know I don't," Joan sighed.

"Then you've got to let me go in. If, at any time, I feel it's too dangerous, I'll abort. We'll try to find another way."

"We should be doing that now, before sending you in."

"That's what I've been doing these past three weeks. Maybe I'm too close, but I can't see any other option."

"I can't afford to lose you... "

"Barber, Reva, Holman, Stu ... they're all good. Any one of them can replace me, Joan."

"Not as a friend they can't." She gave his hand a squeeze. "I won't stop you. And I won't set any conditions, unless you force me to. I trust your instincts. You will run this op as you see fit. But keep in mind, if you go ahead with this, you'll be going in blind, in every sense of the word. We may not be able to monitor you. You may not have any way of reaching us if you get into trouble."

Auggie nodded. "Why the change of heart?"

"SAD reported the loss of one of their tactical officers most recently deployed to Afghanistan, one who had been on medical leave since June."

Joan fell silent, and Auggie wondered if, once again, she'd forgotten that he couldn't read her expression. "Do we have a name?" he asked at length.

"Mariam Usmani"

"A female operative, Joan? Jesus Christ!" Auggie felt as if he'd been gut punched. "Was she one of ours?"

"Does it matter?"

"Was she?"

"Not directly."

"Someone should have been looking out for her."

"Someone was, each time she was on a mission. She went on medical leave six-months ago, then requested a re-assignment to the State Department. Her transfer was approved, but she OD'd on prescription meds before she could start."

"What was her last mission?"

Joan rose to retrieve a pair of folders from her desk drawer. She handed one to Auggie, and kept the other. Auggie ran his fingertips over the Braille notes, quickly processing the information.

"It says here she was supposed to get close to Gadahn's wife...wives?

"SAD has the intel, and you know how tight-lipped they are..."

"But..."

"But from what I've managed to piece together, Mariam was tasked with getting close to the wives to track Gadhan's moves."

Auggie dragged his fingers through his hair. "So, what happened?"

Joan seemed uncharacteristically weary. "Miscommunication... poor intel... mechanical failure... who knows? The official version is a drone strike gone wrong. Struck the family compound. A dozen civilians killed. Most of them women and children."

Auggie shook his head. "Was Mariam hurt?"

"Minor injuries. But the mission was aborted."

"So," Auggie sighed, "she came home, looking for help in dealing with what happened..."

"Looks that way."

"... And they started messing with her mind. Just like they did with Danny."

"We don't know that for sure."

"I can find out," Auggie replied.

"I figured you'd say that." Joan leaned back into the cushions. "So, do you have a team?"

Auggie pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his vest pocket and gave it to Joan. He waited in silence as she read it, knowing she was weighing the strengths and weaknesses of every person on that list.

"I thought we were keeping this close, Auggie. Just Annie and Barber."

"I need Stu and Marty on this."

"It's your mission, but f I may make a couple of suggestions ..."

"If you're about to tell me you want Jai on the team..."

"He's the DPD's top operative," Joan countered. "He's had your back before."

"I know, but this isn't about his skill or even about my personal feelings. I just don't trust him or his family connections. If this cover-up involves the 7th floor, I don't want Jai to know about any of this."

"Is that why Arthur's name isn't here either?"

"I'd prefer he not be involved, not until we have something actionable, but I'll leave that call up to you. I would appreciate it if you'd wait until I was in position before reading him in. We both know how he feels about me doing field work."

"I'll wait." She waited a moment, saying nothing, then rose and ran the list through the shredder. "So when's the first planning meeting?"

"Tonight, at my place, if I can get everyone together."

"I'll be there."

Auggie rose to leave. "Are we done?"

"For now. By the way, Auggie," she added as he made his way to the door, "there is one more person I think you should have on your team..."

"Who?"

"I'd rather not say just yet. I need to make a couple of phone calls."

"Joan..." Auggie rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"I know you don't like surprises. Trust me, okay?"

Auggie sighed. "I always do."

* * *

><p>"Joan will be here in a little while, but I've already read her in," Auggie said, stepping into his living room with a stack of folders. He set them down in the center of the coffee table, and waited with one hand on the stack while he listened to his guests lean forward. "Remember, this is completely off-book. If, for whatever reason, you don't want to take part, you can leave now, no questions asked. It won't change our working relationship." He waited, listening intently, feeling their questioning gazes upon him.<p>

Annie was the first to speak up. "Why all the cloak and dagger clichés, Auggie?"

He snorted. "Hopefully, this'll be all cloak and only metaphorical daggers. But, things could get, hmmm ... messy. There could be some unpleasant consequences. That's why this has to be very highly compartmentalized."

"So? You're my best friend, Auggie. I'm in."

"Not to mention that you thrive on danger and chaos."

"I'll do it," Barber chimed in. "You've hauled my ass out of the fire more than a few times, the way I see it, it's my turn to return the favor."

"Thanks, Eric. How 'bout you, Stu? You don't have to do this."

"You taught me everything I know, Auggie. I won't let you down. Besides, I'm the better hacker. Well, I mean...er..." Stu cleared his throat, sounding suddenly embarrassed.

"This'll be your chance to prove it." Auggie had to smile. Stu had come a long way from the diffident young nerd who'd started at the CIA around the same time as Auggie had returned to the DPD.

"Marty?" Auggie asked, shifting his gaze to the engineer seated to his left.

"Auggie, you know I want to help, but I'm no spook."

"You don't have to be. I need your gadget design wizardry, Marty. You won't ever leave the lab."

"And Joan knows about this?"

"Yeah, but that's no guarantee that she can help us if this thing goes south."

"Understood... Okay," he said after a short pause. "I'm in."

"Sounds like we have a team," Auggie said, relieved. "Okay, kids, grab your folders and remember, none of what we discuss from here on out can leave this room."

He listened to the quiet shuffling of pages, and found an excuse to go to kitchen while he waited for the inevitable guffaws, wisecracks, and snarky comments that were bound to arise when they learned the operational details. But, instead, the living room fell into an awkward, palpable silence. Auggie could well imagine the exchange of glances and silent conversations. As much as he liked to tell himself that he was as capable as he had ever been, he knew he couldn't do this alone. He needed their support. He had doubts enough of his own, he didn't need to hear theirs. He took a drink of water, then squaring his shoulders, turned back towards the living room. "Okay, Anderson," he whispered to himself, "buck up!" He was long past the stage of being afraid of stares and uncomfortable truths. At least, he hoped he was.

He returned to the living room, found his seat, and leaned forward. "So, any questions?"

Annie stirred at his side. "You mean aside from the obvious, Auggie?"

"You sure about this?" Barber asked, shifting awkwardly.

"Yes. I am." Auggie leaned back and took a breath. He wished, just for a moment, that he could meet their gazes, reassure them with a glance. "Look, guys, I know the doubts you're having. Believe me, I've had them myself. But I'm the best suited for the job, this..." he waved a hand before his unseeing eyes, "... notwithstanding. I'm the only officer we have stateside with the field, military and technical experience to carry off this op."

"Okay," Barber said. "So if I'm reading this right, your objective is to get yourself committed?"

Annie muttered an indistinct comment.

"What was that?" Auggie asked.

"I said, that shouldn't be too difficult given this crazy scheme."

"Annie, if you'd rather not be part of this..." Auggie could feel the frustration coming off of her in waves. He felt her push up from the couch, and he followed the sound of her footsteps as she paced the narrow space in front of him. He rose to stop her, and before he fully realized what she was doing, she had grabbed his arm and was pulling him towards the kitchen.

"Annie, we've talked about the proper way to guid ̶ "

"Shut up, Auggie!" Annie hissed, backing him against the counter. "Listen to me," she whispered harshly only inches from his face. "I want to support you. You know I do. But this plan of yours is.. it's nuts Auggie. How the hell are you ̶ "

"Stop it, Annie!" He caught both of her wrists and hoped he was looking her in the eyes. "I know what I'm doing. I know the risks. Better than you can ever imagine. The situation isn't ideal, but I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think I could make it work. "

She leaned in closer. "You are the only friend I have after Danielle. I couldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you."

"Now you know how I feel whenever you break protocol and do something crazy. I cheated death once, I don't want to press my luck a second time."

"Auggie, please..."

"Be on my team, Annie. Help me do this. Either that or get out of my way."

"Okay...okay...I'm in. But just so you know, I think this is a crazy idea."

"Duly noted," he replied. He grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and headed back to the couch. The room was still and silent as the grave.

"You guys still here?"

Marty broke silence. "Auggie, Annie isn't the only one with reservations. Everyone is tap dancing around the great big elephant in here. You were a great field operative, and you're the best tech op that I've ever known, but you're blind. This is a huge mission. How the hell are you going to pull this thing off when you can't see anything?"

"Are you even cleared for field work?" Barber asked.

"I am for this op," he replied in a tone that broached no argument.

Another long, awkward silence followed. At length Stu spoke up. "So, what do you need from us, Boss?"

Auggie slowly released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Alright. This will be a three-stage, two-sided op. For the first stage, on Monday, I'm going to announce my resignation from the Agency. Would seem I got an offer too good to refuse from the Pentagon. Barber, congrats. You're my successor. My office will be cleared out within the week, and for all intents and purposes, I'll be out of the CIA. Which means none of you can be seen to have any contact with me until this op is complete."

"You're running an op on the Agency?" Stu asked in disbelief.

Auggie gave a grim smile. "I'll use my own name, with my Pentagon NOC. I've gone in and built up my file there, and since, to all appearances, I will have left the Agency, my CIA file will be buried... only it won't be. I've hidden and encrypted it so that only Joan will have access. Stu, I need you to try every hacker trick you know to find and open it. The prize inside the Cracker Jack box is a week in Vegas with that cute girl from logistics if you manage to do it," he added with a wink.

"You're on!"

"Once I'm on the mission, you and Barber'll have to intercept any traffic from the VA, the Pentagon, other CIA departments, and any other alphabet agency. No one outside of this team can have any suspicion that this is a CIA op."

"Because it isn't?" Barber suggested.

"Technicality," Auggie replied with a wry half-smile. He picked up his outline, and skimmed his fingertips over the second bullet point. "In stage two, I'll be working at the Pentagon, as per my NOC, but I'll join a PTSD support group. I'm hoping to raise enough red flags to have them refer me to private therapy."

Next to him, Annie shifted uncomfortably. He reached over and patted her arm. "It'll be okay. Even if it all goes Tango Uniform, this what I trained for. It's what I know best, okay?"

"Okay. So where do I come in?"

"Already chomping at the bit, Walker? Patience is a virtue, you know."

"Yeah, and procrastination is the thief of time," she grumbled.

Auggie laughed and turned to where Marty was sitting. "Marty, I hear you used to be a Cold War history buff."

"Still am."

"Any chance that interest involved old-fashioned spy tech?"

"Maybe," he answered with an audible grin.

"I'm going to need you to come up with some old-school way for me to communicate without relying on our latest techno-gadgetry. If this goes according to plan, after a few sessions of private therapy, they should have enough grounds to commit me to one of their reprogramming facilities."

Annie drummed her fingernails on the file folder. "That's Stage Three?" she asked.

"Yep. And when they do, I'm pretty sure, they'll strip me of all my toys. I'll be lucky if they let me keep my cane. So any ideas, Marty?"

Marty blew out a slow breath. "A couple of soup cans and a whole lot of string? I'll get right to work on it. Don't worry. I'll come up with something."

Annie continued to fidget at his side. "So, where do I fit into all this?"

Auggie located the folder she was holding. "Did you read the file through?"

"Yeah, but..."

"You'll do fine. Your file says you volunteered at base hospitals in high school, right? This is a similar environment."

"But what do I know about social work?"

He held out a flash drive. "You're a quick study. Here's a crash course. By the time they're ready to Baker Act me, you'll know everything you need to know."

Any reply Annie might have made was cut short by the buzzing of the lobby intercom. "That must be Joan," Auggie said, as he made his way to the door. A brief exchange and a short moment later, a quiet but firm knock sounded at the door.

He pulled the heavy door open. "Joan?" Mingled with Joan's subtle floral perfume was a hint of something muskier. Armani maybe? "Who's your friend?"

"Well... well," said a vaguely familiar voice. "John, isn't it? The fetishist?"

Auggie leaned a shoulder against the door frame. He closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. "Special Agent Vincent Rossabi. The sightist."

_To be continued_


	9. The Parting Glass

_Happy New Year! And thanks, everyone, for all the lovely reviews and alerts. I LOVE them! _

_The little bit of Cold War era tech in the chapter comes courtesy of Inside the CIA by Ronald Kessler, though any errors are mine alone. What I learned about disabled officers continuing to serve in the U.S. military comes mostly from Captain Scotty Smiley's memoir Hope Unseen. As always, concerns, critiques, and corrections are most appreciated._

_Also, with this chapter, the story begins to diverge somewhat from the Season 2 canon and contains slight spoilers for episode 2.7._

_Enjoy! _

**Chapter Eight: The Parting Glass**

Rossabi stood on the threshold a moment, taking in the scene. He wasn't surprised to find Annie Walker sitting on the couch. She always seemed to turn up at the epicenter of chaos. He was surprised, however, when the blind guy opened the door. The hair was longer, and he'd traded in the Mister Rogers cardigan for a t-shirt, but, yeah, it was the same guy. Aside from Miss Chaos, and the icy blonde, his was the only other familiar face in the room.

"Mi casa, su casa." The blind guy ushered him into the apartment with a grand sweeping gesture that forced him to take a step backwards. As he stepped across the threshold, a hand fastened on his shoulder and pulled him close. "Don't. Move. Anything."

Rossabi twisted out of the other man's grip and stepped into the apartment. "Let me guess," he said, nodding to Annie amid her entourage of Agency geeks, "I've interrupted the bi-weekly meeting of the Smithsonian's gamers society?"

Annie rolled her eyes. "Still flogging that dead horse, Agent Rossabi?"

"I'm a creature of habit," he quipped, dragging a wooden chair across the room.

Auggie followed the sound, fixing the agent with a malevolent glare as he sat. Joan cleared her throat. "Gentlemen, if you're done sniffing and growling at each other, we have work to do. First, we need to establish some ground rules. This will be a joint operation between the DPD and the Bureau. I am running this op with Special Agent Rossabi of the FBI. And as this is an investigation into possible Agency malfeasance, the Bureau is ultimately in charge. Special Agent Rossabi is at the top of the chain of command. I'm second in command."

Auggie's jaw dropped and his sightless eyes grew wide. He was about to speak when Joan silenced him. "This is non-negotiable, August. If you can't work under FBI control, I can find another operative who will."

Auggie acquiesced with a nod.

Rossabi explained. "You will report to your superior who will monitor this operation for the CIA. You will also keep the Bureau fully informed every step of the way. Fully informed. No secrets. No lies. Think you can do that? "

"I'll play by your rules, Rossabi, as long as your people do the same." Auggie replied.

Marty spoke up. "Why are we even involved, Joan? Isn't the Bureau in charge of investigating federal agencies?"

Rossabi answered before Joan could reply. "We are, but there are certain extenuating circumstances in this situation..."

"Special forces military personnel are being targeted," Joan explained. "Normally, we wouldn't get involved, but some of our own special operatives have died. They had intel that could compromise national security if it were leaked, or if it failed to reach us. That's why we're working with the Bureau on this. We need to shut down this operation."

"But why send in Auggie? No, offense, man, but..."

Auggie gave a weary smile. "None taken, Stu."

"I'm with the kid on this one," Rossabi said. "Why the hell would you send a blind man into that sort of situation?"

Joan said nothing, but crossed over to Auggie's television set. She slipped a disc into the DVD player, and waited for it to load. "August Anderson has been one the Agency's top operatives for over ten years. In addition, he is an officer in the U.S. Army Rangers, where he continues to hold the reserve rank of Captain."

"This is supposed to make me feel safer?"

"If that doesn't, Agent Rossabi, maybe this will." She hit "Play". At once the screen was filled with an image of Dulles airport. A cargo plane sat immobile on the tarmac as a convoy of black SUVs pulled up and screeched to a halt. Rossabi recognized the scene. He remembered the day. "What does this have to do with anything?" he asked as the TV showed the plane's cargo hatch slowly opening.

"Watch."

The cameras zoomed in on Afran Felat Khani as he came rolling off the hatch, bound and battered, but very much alive. Rossabi watched closely as his men hauled the bastard into the SUV and drove off.

"So?" he asked clearly annoyed, "we all know what happened next."

"Do you?" Joan replied icily. "Keep watching. I suspect you may have missed this part the first time around."

Rossabi rubbed the bridge of his nose. With barely concealed irritation, he slumped in his chair and reluctantly returned his attention to the TV. For a moment nothing happened, then a figure emerged from the cargo hold, swinging a stick ... or cane before him?

"What the hell?" He sat up straight, his focus now entirely directed at the screen. He watched as the same blind guy who sat across from him, the john he'd arrested at the morgue, probed the distance to the tarmac, then casually jumped off the hatch and walked away out of camera range. "You? You brought in Khani?"

Auggie shrugged. "Just finishing up a job I started four years ago."

Joan turned off the TV and continued. "Captain Anderson has proven his worth to the Agency countless times, with and without his sight. He continues to exceed all of the physical and psychological requirements for domestic field duty."

"Yeah," Rossabi remarked drily, "I'm sure he's lethal at the firing range."

Auggie's lips twisted into something between a smile and a sneer, but Joan cut him off before he could voice a response."As you well know, Agent Rossabi, CIA charter forbids our operatives from carrying firearms on American soil, so your point is moot. Trust that my operative has the necessary background, training and experience for this mission. That's why, against all of my more cautious instincts, I recommended him for this op."

A long silence followed, during which time, Auggie could once again feel the eyes of the entire team upon him. He absolutely hated that feeling.

At length, Rossabi broke the silence. "You brought in Khani ... by yourself... alone?"

"Yeah." Auggie wasn't about to reveal Franka's role.

Rossabi shrugged. "Okay. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." He loosened his tie and leaned forward. "So, if we're going move ahead with this thing, we need to plan this down to the last detail." Auggie stiffened. Rossabi instinctively raised a hand to silence him. "Not because I don't think you can do it. From what I've seen, you can probably solve this case on your own, Anderson. But the way I see it, you're going to be on your own out there. If these alleged wrongdoings go all the way up the CIA chain of command, you need resources from outside the Agency. That's where we come in..."

* * *

><p>"Former Director Wilcox is here to see you , sir."<p>

Arthur Campbell peered over his glasses at the young woman standing in the doorway, and shook his head. "He didn't make an appointment, did he?"

Henry Wilcox pushed his way past the secretary, cutting off her reply. "I didn't feel I needed one, Arthur, seeing as how I used to own this space."

"'Used to' Henry. This isn't your space anymore. Hasn't been for a while. Why don't you go home, and enjoy your retirement. You could buy an RV, and head to Florida. Join the rest of the retired world."

The older man uttered a bark of laughter. "Maybe in a few years. Frankly, I'm surprised, Arthur that someone of your stature hasn't heard about the next stage in my intelligence career."

"Oh, I heard." Arthur rose from his chair and moved towards the door. "Since your latest career plans don't involve the CIA, I don't have any particular interest in them. Now if you'll find your own way out, there are issues of national security that require my attention."

Henry made no move to leave. "I'm disappointed in you, Arthur. Where's the legendary Campbell openness and hospitality I keep hearing about? The food, the free drinks?"

"What do you want, Henry?"

"Consider this a friendly visit from the soon-to-be head of Intelligence and Research at State. I'll be your superior again. Just like old times."

"The title's not your yet. You still need to be confirmed. There will be congressional hearings."

"You and I both know that won't be a problem. And so we come to the reason for my visit, Arthur. You and Joan will be subpoenaed and required to testify."

Arthur smiled. "We'll both look forward to it, Henry. Now, if you don't mind..." and he nodded towards the files on his desk.

"In a minute. Just one more thing. You think you're going to scuttle my chances, Arthur? Maybe talk about some of the shadier ops I authorized, some of the negative fallout we avoided? Just remember, boy, your hands aren't much cleaner than mine. But I'm out, and you're still in, still guarding those secrets. The Albion Group, Operation Lynx, that affair in Budapest... I have nothing to lose if those details come to light. You and Joan, on the other hand... why, there's no telling what the consequences might be if those details are made public. Just chew on that a while before you decide on what you will or will not divulge at those hearings. And you're right, I can find my own way out."

* * *

><p>"Congratulations, Auggie."<p>

"Auggie. I just heard. We'll miss you, dude."

Well, Auggie reflected as he made his way to the elevators, that didn't take long, even by Langley standards. It was only Tuesday morning; he'd announced his departure late Monday, and the news had spread like wildfire. Already this morning, he couldn't take more than a few steps without being approached with congratulations and expressions of regret at his departure.

"Geez, Auggie. I was sure you were a lifer. Figured you'd be teaching my grandkids how to run tech 'round here."

"Thanks. Geoff, right?" He smiled at the junior DPD analyst. Waiting for the elevator, he felt a twinge of remorse at playing the entire Agency, but it was all for the best. He just hoped they would forgive him when he returned. The elevator arrived, and he stepped inside, glad that for once it was empty. If he was lucky, for the short distance of three floors, he could just relax. Too soon the doors opened again. He stepped out into the hallway, and after running his hand over the Braille tag to check the floor, made his way to the OTS lab.

"Hey, Marty," he called. "You here?"

"Back here, Auggie. Stay where you are. The place is kinda messy."

Auggie smiled as a memory of the Office of Technical Services and all of its creative clutter flashed in his mind's eye. The place, evidently, hadn't changed since his last visit and was still a minefield for a blind man. Thankfully, he soon felt Marty take his arm. He adjusted his grip and followed the engineer's lead to the back of the lab. "Can we talk?"

"Yep, the rest of the team is out on a covert entry. I ran a sweep twenty minutes ago. The lab's clean.

"So, what are you working on?"

"A little of this. A little of that... you know, the usual. I do have something to show you, though," he said, setting Auggie's hand on the edge of a workbench."

"What have you got for me?"

"In a minute. First, tell me, if you couldn't have any of your electronics, what aids would you still absolutely need to function independently?"

"My cane. My watch. Some kind of tactile compass. A Braille slate and stylus. But mostly my cane."

"That's what I was hoping you'd say," Marty said, with an audible smile, and touched a small box to the back of Auggie's hand.

Auggie opened it and ran a fingertip over its contents. "A new tip for my cane? Lemme guess, marshmallow tip 2.0?"

"Did you bring your regular cane with you?"

Auggie reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Never leave home without it," he said holding it out.

Marty took it, switched out the tip, and handed it back to Auggie. "Okay, we should be good to go."

"I don't understand."

"Turn the tip one quarter turn clockwise."

"Done."

"You are now in transmission mode. I assume you're fluent in Morse?"

"It's been a while, but I can brush up."

"Good. Because now, each time you depress the tip, your cane becomes a radio transmitter. The tech buried inside will scan the FM wavelengths and snuggle up to the local public radio frequency. Within ten seconds of turning on the transmitter, you're ready to send short messages. Turn the tip off, and it's a regular cane again with nothing to detect. The shaft of the cane will serve as an antenna, but unless you're actively transmitting, and the bad guys know what to listen for, there's nothing that can be picked up in a sweep. Back before the fall of the Iron Curtain, our mole in the Russian embassy used similar tech and was never detected."

"Why piggy-back onto NPR frequencies?"

"LPI. Low probability of intercept. The radio broadcasts will cover up your signal. Plus public radio almost always uses frequencies at the beginning of the dial, which saves our listening posts from having to monitor the entire FM range. Even If you can get just one transmission out, we will find you."

"How will I know that the transmission has been received?"

"You won't. You'll just have to trust that it has been received."

"This is an awful lot better than soup cans and string, Marty. Thanks."

"It'll only work if they let you keep your cane. Whatever you do, don't lose it."

"Won't let it out of my sight," Auggie grinned, and added with a smirk, "So to speak."

"And don't let the battery run out," Marty further cautioned. "It should be good for about one hundred hours. After that, your cane is just a very expensive stick."

"Anything else?"

"I'm assuming you don't have a driver's license?"

"It's that damn parallel parking."

"Okay, smartass, I walked into that one. So, what do you use for I.D.?"

Auggie reached into his wallet and handed Marty his non-driver's identification.

"Mind leaving this with me for a couple of hours? I want to see if there's any way I can alter it to suit our purposes."

Just then a rising murmur of voices heralded the return of Marty's tech crew. As Auggie made his way out of the lab, he once again found himself surrounded.

"Dang, Auggie, who's gonna run this place if you're gone?"

"Yeah! So much for keeping America safe, dude. Thanks a lot!"

With a broad grin and an honest chuckle, Auggie headed towards the elevators.

* * *

><p>Annie watched as the last of the latest cluster of well-wishers exited Auggie's office. Feeling slightly voyeuristic, she observed her friend, handler and mentor as he closed his eyes, pulled his headphones over his ears, and leaned back in his chair. She walked across the bullpen. Auggie's eyes opened at once, and he pulled off the headphones.<p>

"I was wondering when you'd stop by."

"With the constant stream of visitors you've had today, I was beginning to think I might need to make an appointment."

"It's been insane. I mean, it's not like I don't have work to do."

"Reconsidering?"

"Nope. You'll just have to trust Barber and the rest of the team to keep this place going without me."

"I dunno. From what I heard, the fate of the world is in your hands."

"Right. World Peace. Give me a second while I add that to my to do list."

Annie laughed. "Sure. Allen's once you're done saving the world?"

Auggie hesitated. "Actually, there's something I need to do after work... And I could use your help with something else if you don't mind stopping by my place later.

"No problem. I'll bring the food."

"I'll supply the booze."

A few hours later, Annie slid open the heavy door, and turned on the lights. "You here, Auggie?"

"In the bedroom. I'll be out in a minute."

"You would not believe the line at Lorenzo's. If this keeps up, they're going to have to take reservations for take ...Whoa! Well, hello there, Soldier Boy!"

Annie set the pizza on the counter and crossed the room to where Auggie was standing board straight, in full service uniform.

"How do I look?"

"A far cry from my favorite geek." Annie looked him over. "You got a haircut," she said, raising a hand to smooth a cowlick.

"Kinda had to. The Pentagon doesn't really go for the shaggy look." He ran a hand over his hair before pulling on his beret. "I don't look too bald, I hope. Are my insignia and ribbons straight?"

She adjusted his captain's bars. "You look fine, Auggie. I've always liked a man in uniform, but ..uh...should you be wearing that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked. "Joan wasn't blowing smoke at Rossabi. This is legit. I still hold a reserve rank. I'm going active for this op, but I never left the Army."

"I thought you would have received an honorable discharge after your accident."

"They came around with discharge papers while I was in hospital, but I never signed them. At the time, I didn't want to sign anything that I couldn't read. Plus I wasn't ready to deal with the finality of my situation. Afterwards, when I didn't think I'd still have a job with the Agency, it seemed foolish to resign my commission. I still wanted to serve my country. Lucky for me, I'm not the Army's first disabled officer, not even the first blind officer. Believe it or not, there are non-combat options for guys like me."

"So, for a month out of each year you put on a uniform and ..."

"... test their network security."

A knowing smile spread across Annie's face."You mean you try to hack into the Pentagon's servers"

"Semantics. They'll have me in a new job next week, though."

"Your NOC got a promotion?" Annie said, disbelievingly.

"Yep. You, Miss Walker, are looking at the Pentagon's new ADA compliance officer. I'll have an office, and a staff. Who knows, I might even get a higher rank out of it."

"Great! Just what you need, more fuel for your formidable ego. C'mon, Cap'n, chow's getting cold."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Don't 'ma'am' me, I work for a living."

* * *

><p>"Nice haircut, Auggie."<p>

"Yeah, who knew the boss had a forehead... or ears?"

Auggie rolled his eyes at his team. "Yeah, it's amazing how much more clearly I can hear work calling you now."

The Tech Ops door slid open. "Auggie, a word if you please."

"Coming. Guys?"

"We've got it, Auggie."

A moment later, Auggie was in his usual place on Joan's couch.

"Nice haircut." Joan remarked. "Reminds me of this green recruit I once knew..."

"Funny."

"All set?" Joan asked.

"Everything's in place. "

"You'll need these, " Joan said, and she touched an envelope to the back of Auggie's hand. "Your cover documents and protocols." Auggie took the package, but didn't open it. "Second thoughts?"

"None."

"Okay. I'll need something from you before you leave." Auggie frowned. "Your laser. It can't leave the premises."

Auggie handed over the high tech cane. "I'm going to miss this thing." He paused. "That's not all I'm going to miss. Thanks for your support, Joan."

"Don't know how we'll keep this place going without you."

"_Et tu_, Joan?"

"Just complete your mission, and come back safely."

"That's the plan."

* * *

><p>Auggie made a slow circuit of his office, his fingers trailing over the familiar contours of his now empty desk, skimming over the various bits of tech that connected the DPD to the rest of the world. His Braille displays, embosser and other adaptive equipment, the teakwood sculpture, his Grado headphones, Mingus box set, all had been packed away, and waited now in his new office at the Pentagon. Only a contraband bottle of Patrón remained, tucked away in the bottom drawer, a gift to Barber who could use an upgrade in his drinking choices.<p>

The bullpen was uncharacteristically quiet. The day shift was out celebrating the close of another week of keeping the world safe. And the evening shift seemed absorbed in their own ops and analyses. Auggie went through his mental checklist one more time. Everything here was in place. Barber should have a smooth transition. And yet...

He chided himself for giving into wishful thinking. He couldn't have it both ways. He'd practically begged for this mission, and had to trust that his team would have his back. They would. He had no doubt. And yet...

"You ready, Boss?"

"You're the boss now, Barber. Try not to trash the place too badly."

Barber laughed. "No Buffalo wings while typing. Got it."

Auggie ran his hands over the pristine keyboard one last time, imagining the sticky, greasy mess that would greet him upon his return. He reached for Barber's elbow. "Allen's?"

"The gang's all there, waiting to give you a proper send-off."

_To be continued..._


	10. Into the Field

_Here's the next installment, up sooner than I expected. I guess the Muses like Auggie in uniform. They're not the only ones ;-) _

_I should warn you, my tech knowledge is next to nil. Please point out any ridiculously glaring errors I may have made. Suggestions will be gratefully accepted. _

_Thanks, as always, for the reviews and alerts._

_Enjoy!_

_M&M _

_P.s. ODMEO is the acronym for the Office of Diversity Management and Equal Opportunity._

**Chapter 9: Into the Field**

"Captain Anderson?"

Auggie rose from his seat, resisting the urge to check his uniform one more time. Instead he snapped a crisp salute. "Major Duncan. Sir."

"At ease, captain. I'm glad to see that you believe in punctuality. This is a busy department, Anderson, and I keep a tight schedule. Now, if you'll follow me."

Auggie strained to hear the major's footsteps, but the thick carpet of the vestibule muffled any sound the senior officer might have made. He was developing a serious distaste for broadloom. "Sir?" Auggie asked, hoping he was facing in the correct direction.

"Yes?" Major Duncan's voice came from two o'clock.

Auggie turned to face the major, waving his folded cane. The major heaved a frustrated sigh. "What do you want me to do?"

"Give me a few days, sir, and I'll have these offices memorized, but until then, if you go silent on me you might as well be invisible. For now, I could hold on to your elbow. That's called 'sighted guide' or 'sighted lead' or you could just keep talking, and I'll do my best to follow you."

"Look, I'm going to be upfront and honest with you, Anderson," Major Duncan explained, as he led Auggie into his office, "I'm not in favor of having guys like you remaining in the military... There's a chair to your left." Auggie found the chair, folded his cane and sat, waiting to hear what his new boss had to say. A chair squeaked in front of him followed by the sound of shuffling papers. "I believe that each member of this country's military should be ready, at a moment's notice, to take up arms in defense of America and American interests. You clearly cannot."

Auggie said nothing. It wasn't the first time since his accident that his superiors had underestimated his abilities. There would be time later to change the major's mind.

"That said, however, you've been posted to the Office of Diversity Management and Equal Opportunity, so, for what it's worth, welcome aboard."

"Thank-you, sir."

Duncan continued. "Says here you were Special Forces."

"Yes, sir. 75th Army Rangers."

"See much action?"

"Some, sir. Kosovo, Afghanistan, Iraq."

The major made a thoughtful noise. "Your file is a little stingy on details, Anderson. Care to elaborate?"

"Sorry, sir. I'm not at liberty to do so. Some of those missions are still classified."

"Fair enough. How did you lose your sight?"

"My unit was ambushed in Tikrit, sir. There was a dead dog, sir, gunfire and an explosion. I don't remember much."

"It says here you were offered a medical discharge with full honors and benefits and you refused?"

"Ever since I was a kid, sir, I planned on a military career. I didn't feel a need to resign just because my eyes stopped working. The rifle wasn't my only weapon."

Duncan made a non-committal noise. "So, instead of resigning after your injury, you went on reserve duty doing occasional system security. What did that entail exactly?"

"Sir, whenever the Pentagon rolled out a new system upgrade, they asked me to make sure it was secure."

"How did you do that?"

Auggie hesitated, but only for a moment. "I would try to gain unauthorized entry into the system."

"Meaning?"

"I'd try to hack my way in, sir."

"Did you succeed?"

"Every time, sir."

Duncan tapped the papers. "Your record is impressive."

"Thank-you, sir."

"Your file says you oversaw network security for a civilian firm?"

"Yes, sir. For the last three years until they decided to outsource the tech department to an I.T. firm in Bangalore. That's when I decided to go active duty again."

Duncan fell silent and Auggie could only rely on the sound of the quietly turning pages, punctuated by the major's occasional muttering or clearing of his throat. Auggie got the impression that more than once, the major wanted to say something, but reconsidered and returned to the perusal of his file.

"Looks like there's plenty in this here file for me to read through," Duncan said several minutes later, "except for one crucial piece of information that seems to be missing."

"Sir?"

"Why the hell are you here, Anderson?"

"I'm here to assure ADA compliance. It's in my orders," he said, holding out an envelope.

Duncan took the envelope and threw it on the desk, unopened. "Oh, I know what the paperwork will say. And don't worry, we have your office and staff all ready for you. We even had some trainer from the VA come 'round and give us pointers on how to work with a blind guy. But why are you here, Anderson? How did you go from part-time geek to running an office in my department? Until last week, I had an ADA compliance officer. A guy with two working eyes who could do the job without expecting special treatment."

"I don't expect special treatment, sir."

"Oh, no? Tell me, Anderson, how are you going to take a look around and see that a ramp is too steep, or a doorway too narrow? The guy I had before could do that just fine, until, without warning, he's transferred to Landstuhl!"

"I'm sure the Army sent him where his skills were most needed ... sir."

"Oh, I'm sure of it too. But you want to know what I really think, Anderson?"

Auggie was pretty sure he knew what the major was really thinking.

"Here's what I think. I think you're here because some Capitol Hill wonk told some politician that the Pentagon didn't have enough disabled vets on staff. The politician, more concerned with political correctness than with national security, called a DoD bean counter who probably weaseled his way further up the chain of command than you or I will ever get and decided that for good form the ODMEO should have a cripple of our own. And that's why you're here, Anderson."

Duncan paused to take a breath. "Don't get me wrong, you seem like a decent guy. Your record is stellar, and there's no doubt you've been dealt a bitch of a hand. But seriously? Come on, you're no more a soldier than my three-year-old daughter. You should have signed those discharge papers, and taken your disability pay."

"Sir. Respectfully, I disagree. I refused to sign those papers because I felt I still had something to offer my country."

"Well," Duncan said, slapping the file on his desk, "here's your chance to prove it. Grab your things and follow me. I'll show you to your office, and introduce you to your staff."

* * *

><p>Eric Barber split his attention between three screens. Although he couldn't really fault the guy, he couldn't help but resent Auggie a little for choosing such a busy time to go back into the field. He stuffed the last of his doughnut into his mouth, and hurried to wipe the jelly that had dribbled onto the keyboard. He could imagine at least a dozen different ways that Auggie would enjoy killing him for gumming up his precious circuitry with doughnut jelly.<p>

Stu knocked on the door frame. "Got a minute, Eric? There's something I think you should see."

"Gimme a second ... and a towel."

Shaking his head, the junior techie handed him a wipe. "Auggie would not be happy."

"Yeah, well let's just keep this little incident between ourselves, shall we? What have you got?"

Stu stole a quick glance around the office. In less than a week, Auggie's meticulous organization had been overrun by Barber's barely controlled chaos. "Right. Remember that bug Auggie asked you to trace when he was in Vermont?"

"Yeah, I traced it here, but then I hit a dead end."

"That end's not as dead as it seemed. Check this out," Stu said, and brought up a screen. In an instant, the monitor was filled with what resembled nothing so much as a game of pick-up sticks, with lines of every color crossing and overlapping in every direction.

Barber crossed to Stu's work station. "Communication lines? Nothing new there, Stu."

"No? What if I filter out all of the overt communications?" He hit a few keys, and suddenly only a handful of "sticks" remained on the screen.

"Okay. I'll bite. What are those?" Barber asked, his curiosity piqued.

Stu grinned. "Secure links. The blue lines are satellite calls. The yellow are our secure land lines, the pink, our secure cells. But that one green line there, that's our bug."

"And the red?"

"It's a burn phone, somewhere here in the new wing, unsecured, and, I'm guessing, unauthorized. I'll bet a week's pay it's being used as a relay."

Barber looked at Stu, a broad smile stretching across his features. "I don't suppose you have the number."

"Working on it. Shouldn't take me too long."

"Good job! Let me know when you find it. We'll make a phone call when you do."

* * *

><p>Auggie leaned over his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers skimmed over a relief map of the Pentagon. All considered, the transition had gone smoothly in spite of Major Duncan's reservations. Auggie could work with that. At least Duncan hadn't gone out of his way to make the job harder the way Henry Wilcox had when he'd first returned to the DPD.<p>

As promised, he had quickly memorized the general layout of his own and surrounding departments. Almost a full week into his new cover and he could locate, on paper anyway, just about any office in the Pentagon. No small feat considering the Pentagon was the world's largest office complex, a city unto itself, with over twenty-three thousand employees on site on any given day.

Now, it was only a matter of getting his brain to translate the information coming through his fingertips into something three dimensional he could use to navigate the sprawling complex. He'd spent the better part of his first week exploring the maze of rings and corridors with his assistant, Specialist Rivera, logging the various tactile, auditory and olfactory reference points into his phone's GPS, while she pointed out the main sections, departments, and amenities. He had read somewhere when first establishing his NOC that in spite of the Pentagon's impressive size it could take as little as seven minutes to travel on foot between any two points, provided one knew the shortest routes. He aimed to do it in six.

He set the map aside, and retrieved a file from his desk. His office had been tasked with verifying that the renovations in a suite of offices in Wedge Five were compliant. While he could have sent one of his staff, he wanted to secure his NOC, and make certain that he was seen doing the job, and doing it well. He silently thanked his uncle who, for three summers running, had hired him to work for his construction firm. The money had been better than anything his high school buddies were earning slinging burgers or washing cars, and the experience he now realized was priceless. He might not be the best guy to trust swinging a hammer anymore, but at least he could still make his way around a construction site and look like he knew what he was talking about. Besides, while this might only be a NOC, the work was still important, and he would give it his best effort while he was here... however long or short a time that was.

He was preparing to head out to the work zone, gathering up papers and equipment, when he got the distinct and unsettling impression that someone was watching him. He put on an affable expression and turned to greet his visitor. "Major Duncan?" he asked after a brief pause.

"Can you see me?" Duncan blurted.

Auggie laughed. "No, sir." He waved a hand before his face. "Blind as a bat. Blinder actually. Most bats have pretty good eyesight. Plus they have sonar. I could really use that." The senior officer cleared his throat, and Auggie could sense that the lighthearted way he referred to his blindness made Duncan uncomfortable.

"How ... how did you know it was me?" the major stammered.

"Your cologne, sir, and a lucky guess. May I help you with something?"

"No. I was just stopping by to see how you were getting along. What is that?"

"This, sir?" Auggie asked indicating the map he'd been studying just a few moments earlier. The major didn't voice his answer, and Auggie assumed he had nodded. "It's a relief map of the third floor of Wedge Five, sir. I'm on my way to the new offices near 3B2 with some specs."

"Is it in Braille?" Duncan asked fingering the map.

"Not exactly, but it's embossed so that I can read it."

"There isn't any writing."

Auggie grinned, "Well, it depends how you define writing. There's no print, which wouldn't help me anyway, but there are Braille tags. If you're interested, sir, when I get back, I can show you how it all works."

"How much did all that cost my department?"

"Not a penny, sir. The tech I use is costly, but I secured the funding through an ADA assistive technology grant once I knew I'd be assigned here."

"You said you were going to 3B2?"

"Yes, sir."

"How will you get there, Anderson? It's on the other side of the building, and in a construction zone."

Auggie smiled and unfolded his cane and pulled a bluetooth earpiece out of his pocket. "Shouldn't be too difficult, sir. Do you need me to show you the way?"

Auggie heard what sounded like an exasperated sigh. "Don't be a smartass, Anderson. Give me your phone."

"Sir, that's not necessary," Auggie protested.

"Don't make me turn that into an order. Your phone."

"Yes, sir." Auggie handed the phone over, and waited, silent, while the major punched in a number.

"You already have my office number but I'm giving you my cell and home numbers, in case you need them. And before you say anything, it's something I give all of my staff. I trust you to use them if you need to reach me, for whatever reason. This is a big place. I've been here seven years and still get lost. You've been here less than a week."

"Yes, sir. Thank-you, sir."

"I'll walk with you."

"Sir, I don't need your -"

"There's a Starbucks on the way, and I don't know about you, Anderson, but I'm overdue for my afternoon Java rations."

"Coffee would be good, sir." Auggie slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. He picked up his cane and his phone, and turned towards the door. Maybe this boss wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure about his, Stu?" Joan asked, pacing the length of her office.<p>

"As sure as I can be. I've eliminated any other possibility, and it's too coincidental to be a coincidence, if you get my meaning."

"And have you located the phone?"

Eric hesitated. "We have a pretty good idea where it is, but we haven't pinpointed its location to a specific workstation."

"So, what you're saying is that you haven't actually seen it."

"We're working on it, but..." Joan sent Barber a probing look. "But we'd have to snoop through every desk... people's belongings..." Barber explained. "Not that that's a problem. I mean it's what we do with our foreign agents and assets, right?"

"But not what we do with CIA officers." Joan nodded. "I understand. I'm not ready to read Rossabi in on this just yet. For now, this is an internal concern, and the Bureau doesn't need to know. In the meantime, keep looking for it. When you find it, keep an eye on it. Monitor it, but be discreet. Let me know the minute it moves or goes active. And, gentlemen, this conversation does not go beyond the three of us. Whoever was tracking Auggie in Vermont could compromise his mission here."

* * *

><p>"...and so, her CO referred her to us. There's no precedent in the UCMJ. Still, I don't know, allowing her to wear a hijab, we could be opening up ..." Duncan stopped. "Anderson, are you even listening to me?"<p>

"Huh? Sorry, sir." Auggie stopped and leaned on his cane. "I'm still trying to learn this route. With all the renovation work, my reference points keep changing each time I come through here."

Duncan paused and studied the younger officer's features. Beneath the look of stubborn determination, there lurked something else, not quite fear. Doubt? "Look, I know you're trying to show everyone how independent you are. Hell, you've been navigating this place pretty well for..."

"A blind guy?"

"I was going to say 'a new guy who's only been here a couple of weeks'. We all get disoriented around here. If you need help, just ask."

Auggie felt the heat rising in his face. "Yeah. I've never been very good at that."

"Just take my arm before we have to send a search party out looking for you."

"But I'm heading clear across the complex, sir. You were heading to the barber shop in hall C."

"Bah! My doc says I need more exercise, so what the hell, this is as good a way as any to get it."

Auggie sighed and reached for Duncan's elbow. "Thank-you sir."

They walked in silence for a few moments. "You know, Anderson, you don't have to try to impress me. Those things I said on the first day, they were directed at the situation, not at you specifically."

"I know that, sir."

"I think I understand your reasons for wanting to stay in the Army. I don't share them, but I respect them. Don't know why you'd want to stay after what happened to you, but that's your choice, I suppose. I still think every person in the military should be fit for combat duty, but maybe that's because I'm a Marine...

"...and Jarheads are infantry men first," Auggie replied with a cheeky grin.

"Exactly."

"I understand, sir. Believe me. Four years ago, I probably would have reacted the same way if someone had assigned a blind guy to my company. But I've come to appreciate that someone has to keep the military machine running smoothly while the cowboys go out and shoot their guns."

Duncan laughed. "These days, it's as if there are twenty of us pencil pushers for every cowboy out there..."

"Do you miss the action, sir?"

"Sometimes. But combat is a young man's game. I'm a married man now, with a three kids that I want to see grow up, and a wife who sacrificed her career to mine for too long. I'm content with my choice. Still, a desk job wasn't exactly how I'd imagined my military career."

Auggie gave a bitter laugh. "Mine neither."

"No, I suppose not. What about you, Anderson, do you miss it?"

"Every day, sir."

They rounded a corner, and the smell of fresh saw dust filled Auggie's nostrils. He stopped and cast about for additional clues. He realized, with a growing sense of unease, that he had only the faintest idea where he was. He'd allowed himself to get drawn into the major's conversation and be distracted. He hadn't paid proper attention to his surroundings. Even when he could see, he never allowed himself the luxury of inattention. Distraction got guys killed. He swung his cane wide until it connected with the wall.

"You okay, Anderson?"

He took a breath. "Yeah, fine, sir. Just a little disoriented. Where are we?"

"Where the old 1B food court used to be."

"That really doesn't help me, sir."

"Well, it's still 1B, but-" A staccato blast cut off Duncan's reply. Auggie's reflexes went into overdrive. He hit the floor, pulling the major down with him, and dragged him towards the wall.

'What the hell?" Duncan pried the younger man's fingers from his arm, picked himself up and looked around. "It's just the workers, Anderson. It's a goddamn drill, that's all. Jesus! You scared me half to death!"

Getting no response, he looked to where the younger man was crouched, his forehead pressed against the wall, and his hands over his ears. "Hey, it's okay. It was just a pneumatic drill. Oh, crap... I'm sorry. I should have warned you. Anderson... Anderson?"

Slowly, Auggie raised his head, gulping for air. His eyes were still squeezed tightly shut. "I'm okay...I'm okay," he gasped, still catching his breath. "I thought I was over this, damn it!" He dropped his head and slammed his fist against the wall.

* * *

><p>"Damn!" Stu muttered and threw up his hands.<p>

"What's wrong?" Barber asked, walking by.

"I almost had it. That's twice in two days that our relay has gone active, just for a second, and then gone dormant again before I could get a lock on it."

Barber set his soda down, and took over Stu's second computer. "Did you isolate its frequency?" he asked, typing in a series of commands.

"Lemme check. No. Nothing. It registers as barely a blip sneaking in past our sensors."

"Sneaking in? That's it. Stu, you are a genius!"

"Huh...What?"

Barber explained. "We've been trying to lock onto the signal on its way into Langley, but if this thing is a relay, then it's sending that signal out again almost as soon as it comes in. If we aren't fast enough to catch it coming in, we might still be fast enough to catch it going out next time, and backtrack."

"Okay. So, what do you want me to do?"

"Dedicate one of the computers to the sole task of tracking this thing. Next time it goes active, we'll get it."

* * *

><p>"So, does this happen often?" Duncan asked, back in his office at the ODMEO. He shut the door and brushed a bottle against the back of Auggie's hand. "Water. Drink it."<p>

Auggie took a long drink. He could still feel his hands shaking and his pulse pounding in his ears. Well, he thought wryly, so much for having to fake an attack of PTSD. If nothing else, at least this damn episode would solidify his cover. "No, not often, sir. Hardly ever, anymore. It's been years. Usually it's just the nightmares. This time just caught me by surprise. I guess the stress of moving into a new job... figuring out a new workplace..."

"Did you ever get help for your PTSD?"

Auggie shook his head. "After I was injured... when I was released from hospital and went into rehab, they had mandatory counseling sessions, but it was all about learning to accept this," he said, pointing to his eyes. He took another sip of water, and wiped his lips. "I was the youngest guy there, and the only one blinded in combat. Most of the other guys were World War II and Korean War vets. Older guys with diabetes and macular degeneration. They were sympathetic, but... they could still see, maybe not twenty-twenty, but they could still see, and it pissed me off. They wanted to get back their golf games and canasta. I wanted to get back my life. I couldn't get out of those support sessions fast enough."

"You seem to have dealt with it, adjusted..."

"Yeah, until a pneumatic drill goes off, and because my brain can't figure out what it is, it sends me straight back to Tikrit!"

"We have support groups here, Anderson. It's one of services this office oversees..."

He turned away, fixing his gaze on a patch of nothing between his feet. "I can't, sir," he said after a long moment. "How would it look?"

"I don't follow."

Auggie took a breath. "Sir, I worked damn hard to get where I am today. When people see me, they don't see some poor helpless blind guy. I hope they see a determined and capable officer who just happens to be blind. Wounded, maybe, but still a warrior, still a badass if I need to be. I can't bare my scars to those people. Not when I've worked so hard to cover them up."

"How badass do you think you looked crouched against that wall?"

Auggie flinched at Duncan's words. The major fought dirty. "It won't happen again, sir."

"You don't know that. How will you react when a door slams in a draft? When a helicopter lands on the lawn? When you walk by a carpenter using a nail gun? The thing that makes PTSD such a bitch is that you never know when it'll catch you off guard. A lot of our people got help after what happened here on 9/11, from the lowest grunts to guys on the Joint Chiefs. There's no shame."

"I'll work it off at the gym, sir. That's how I've always handled it."

"Not very well, evidently. Listen, I read your record, at least the parts that weren't redacted. I can't begin to know how difficult it must have been for you. But I do know that you need to put as much effort into overcoming your emotional trauma as you did your physical injuries, otherwise the PTSD will end up crippling you more than the loss of your sight ever did."

Auggie pushed himself up from the chair and turned to face the major. "Sir, are you ordering me into therapy?"

"Will you go if I simply request it?" Auggie made no reply. "That's what I thought. You don't have to go to a support group here at the Pentagon, you can find support groups through the VA, the American Legion or the VFW but yes, you have to go. I'll expect weekly updates."

"Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?"

"Yes, we're done. Take the rest of the day off, Anderson. I'll see you tomorrow, and I'll expect you to have decided where you'll go for support."

"Yes, sir," Auggie saluted, turned, and made his way to the door. He paused with his hand on the door knob. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Thank-you, sir."

"You're welcome. Now go home."

_To be continued_


	11. A Fine Line

_So, so sorry for the unforgivably long delay. Family drama. Nuff said. _

_Thanks for all the reviews and alerts. They make my day and delight the muses._

_Enjoy the new chapter._

_M&M_

* * *

><p>Chapter Ten: A Fine Line<p>

Auggie sat before his computer and logged on to the Agency's secure Skype connection.

_August Anderson: Situational Report, November 8, 2011. _

_Okay, so since my last sit rep I've just about finished setting the stage for Captain Anderson's downward spiral. My cover at the Pentagon is becoming more firmly established. My staff are adjusting to having a new boss, and my boss is adjusting to having a blind guy running one of his departments. What the construction workers around the Pentagon really think of having a guy like me checking up on them has yet to be revealed. Can't imagine they're particularly pleased with having me bumbling around their work sites. But, on the bright side, I haven't caused any major disasters or setbacks to their schedules yet, so I'm just going to assume they're getting used to having me around, too. _

_Since my little "incident" of a couple of weeks ago, I've been attending the local VA's PTSD support group, playing up the insomnia and anger issues. I haven't opened up much yet, and the facilitator, a guy called Mike, hasn't pushed it. I'm waiting for the right opportunity to come along. Don't want to seem too seriously nuts. I'd hate for them to commit me for the wrong reasons, after all. With any luck the right opportunity will come along soon. Stay tuned. _

_Oh, and before I sign off, tell Barber to ... oh, never mind, just remind him that I have eyes and ears everywhere... everywhere. Got it? Anderson out._

* * *

><p>"Gotcha!" Stu crowed and rapidly typed in a command. "Finally!" After three-weeks of playing a game of cyber cat-and-mouse, his vigilance had paid off. A moment later, an image of CIA headquarters appeared on his screen, zooming in ever closer, focusing and re-focusing on smaller areas of the building until the image paused over a single blinking red light. Stu's eyes grew wide. No way! That couldn't be right.<p>

The glee he'd felt a moment earlier quickly turned to shock and disbelief. He typed in a new command, hoping he was wrong, fearing he was right. The image that appeared on his screen confirmed his fears. He released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Joan would want to know about this at once.

He stole a furtive glance across the bullpen to the last person he would have suspected of trying to scuttle this op, then looked up towards Joan's office. The DPD director was engaged in an animated discussion with a pair of operatives from the Miami station. He had a few minutes, thank God. He minimized his screen and locked his computer. He needed to show this to Barber, then they had to see Joan.

* * *

><p>"Thanks, A.J. That's good, real good," Mike said clapping a hand on the young vet's shoulder. "I know that wasn't easy for you. It's progress, and it's something we all might want to think about for next week."<p>

Auggie listened to the murmurs of agreement that circled the room. In the short time he'd been attending PTSD support meetings, he'd matched names to the voices of the men and women who made up the group. There was Mike the counselor and group facilitator, whose smooth drawl betrayed his East Texas roots. Patrick, the Vietnam vet with the whiskey and tobacco growl. A.J., the mumbler, a kid just back from Afghanistan, and Moira a trauma doc between tours. There were others too, young, old and in between, all there trying to lay their demons to rest.

Auggie had his demons, too. They still caught him at unawares sometimes, seizing him when he least expected them to surface. For the most part, though, he'd learned to master them, loosening his grip on them when it suited his purpose, otherwise holding them bound and chained in that dark and secret place no one had ever seen.

As he listened to his fellow vets tell their stories, he wondered if he would ever set his demons free. One day... maybe, when he no longer had the strength or the will to subdue them. For now, he was in control. Any weakness was for show. Part of the game. It wouldn't do to unleash them here. He had a job to do. And the demons, docile for now, would serve their purpose.

"Okay, guys," Mike called out, "They're about to kick us out and bring in the next group. Don't forget to keep those journals. For those who're interested, we can continue this over at Chili's down the street."

Auggie rose. Around him, he heard chairs scraping against the floor, and people shrugging into their coats. He zipped his jacket, pulled a knit cap low on his forehead, and slung his bag across his chest. Listening carefully as his fellow vets exited the room and made their way down the clinic hallway, he shook his cane loose and began navigating his way towards the door.

"Auggie," Mike called. "Join us at Chili's?"

Without turning 'round Auggie shook his head. "I gotta be somewhere."

"Wait up. Let me walk you out."

Here we go, he thought. "I can find my own way," he said and kept going. A moment later he felt a hand brush against his wrist as Mike offered to guide him. "I don't need your help," he said between gritted teeth, and shoved his left hand deep in his pocket, while his right gripped the cane more tightly.

"I know you can find your own way. I don't doubt you have this place mapped out, Auggie. Can we talk for a minute?" He asked, reaching for Auggie's shoulder.

Auggie recoiled from the counselor's touch. "Isn't that what we just spent the last two hours doing?"

"That's what the others did, but not you. What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been coming to these meetings for the last three weeks, but you've barely said a word.

"I will... You can't expect me to open up just like that up to a bunch of faceless strangers."

"Look, Auggie. The sooner you open up about what brought you here, the sooner you can start working through your problems. Understand?"

Auggie's lips curled in a bitter smile. "You want to know what brought me here? My job, okay? I had an episode at work...I was caught off-guard. I freaked out because of something I couldn't see. My boss said I had to do something about my problem. It was either finding a support group or finding another job. That's why I'm here."

"So you've been handling it fine on your own until now. And if your boss hadn't forced you to come..."

"...I'd be dealing with it at the gym like I've always done. In fact, that's where I'm headed now, so if you don't mind..." Auggie took a step towards the door, but felt a hand grip his arm. He swung around. "Get your hands off of me," he snarled and pulled his arm free.

Mike released his arm. "Auggie, there's a chair at your five o'clock. Have a seat."

Auggie swung his cane wide. It connected with the chair with a solid thwack. He slumped into the chair and waited for Mike to speak. The room was silent, and he was fairly sure all the others had left. He touched the face of his watch. "If you're going to talk, talk. I have ten minutes before my bus gets here."

"Okay... Believe it or not, Auggie, I get it. You don't want to be here. You don't want to share your story. Fine. Take your time. But let me remind you, this is a support group, and the support is mutual. What you get out of it is directly proportional to what you put in. Now, I've been filing the weekly reports, like you asked, but soon someone's going to start wondering about the lack of progress."

"Just wrap it up in the usual psychobabble. It's not as if anyone actually reads those things."

"You're not helping yourself, and you're not helping any of the other guys here either."

"No..." Auggie said, shaking his head and turning away. "No. Don't even try to guilt trip me. It's your job to help those guys. Me, I don't need help. I've been handling this perfectly well on my own. That episode I had, it was the first in years."

"Your story might help them," Mike insisted.

Auggie got to his feet. "Nice... Yeah, I don't think so. I've got enough on my plate." He shook out his cane, and tapped it on the floor hard. "You won't hold me up as some kind of movie-of-the-week inspirational blind guy hero. Now, if you don't mind, I have a bus to catch."

Mike reached for his arm. "Wait!"

Auggie closed his eyes, whispered a silent 'Bingo' and spun around. In one smooth, swift, well-practiced move he grabbed Mike's arm, and in an instant, had him flat on the floor. With a knee on Mike's chest, he leaned in close to the stunned man's face. "I said keep your hands off of me. Understand?"

* * *

><p>Joan walked into Tech Ops and slid the door shut behind her. "You've got something?"<p>

"I think...maybe... I dunno, Joan. We could be wrong. It wouldn't be the first time..."

"Barber, you're stalling. What is it that you're trying to tell me without telling me?"

Stu brought up a screen with the floor plan of the DPD, and a single red light blinking at one of the work stations. Joan pursed her lips. "Can this be anything else? An earpiece? An authorized bug?"

Barber shook his head. "We don't use that frequency, Joan."

Joan straightened up. "Very well. Get me that phone, and stand-by for further instructions" She paused for a moment by the door, and then, with a firm step returned to her office. Emerging a few minutes later, she surveyed the bullpen before calling out to Annie. "My office."

"What's going on?"

"My office."

Annie shot Stu and Barber a quizzical look, but they shifted uncomfortably and did not meet her gaze. She saved her work and sprang up the steps that separated the bullpen from the offices and suites.

Wordlessly Joan nodded to a pair of security officers. They fell in step behind the pair.

"Sit down, Annie," Joan said, as they entered her office. Annie glanced over her shoulders as the two men followed and took position on each side of the doorway. As the door closed, she noticed Barber and Stu closing in on her desk.

* * *

><p>"Captain Anderson. A word in my office."<p>

Auggie followed Major Duncan across the vestibule. The senior officer did not offer his arm. Auggie didn't need it. He'd spent several evenings pacing and mapping out the ODMEO and surrounding office suites. He counted his steps to the chairs in front of Duncan's desk, and sat in the nearest one.

"Care to explain what this is about?" Duncan said, shoving a paper in Auggie's direction.

Auggie found the edge of the paper and ran a hand over the page. With a rueful smile he slid the paper back across the desk. "I'm not Daredevil, sir. You'll have to be a little more explicit."

"Who...What... "

"Daredevil? Blind comic book hero? Can read regular print with his fingertips?" Auggie shrugged and added with a look of chagrin, "I can't do that. Sorry."

"Never mind the nerd culture references. This just came in from the VA clinic you've been going to for your PTSD. It's this week's progress report. Is that explicit enough?"

"Oh." Auggie waited for an audible reaction that didn't come. " I can explain, sir. He grabbed at me. I wasn't expecting that. I may have overreacted a little."

"A little?" Duncan said, his voice cracking with disbelief. "He says you flipped him over your shoulder and pinned him to the ground."

"I warned him not to grab at me."

"For crissake, he was trying to help you!"

"Maybe I didn't need his help, sir."

Major Duncan heaved a heavy sigh. "Look, the long and short of it is, he doesn't want you back in his support group, and he suggests that you start seeing someone on a one-on-one basis. The sooner the better. At this point, I can't say that I disagree."

"I'm fine, sir. I don't need to spill my guts to some civilian who's never seen combat, who has no idea..."

"I'll set you up with one of our docs here."

Auggie looked up. Maybe he had played the part too well. "No, sir. Please. Not at the Pentagon. Maybe you're right. No... you are right. I'll go back to the VA. I'll see a shrink there. They know me. They have my file. You know...from after my accident..."

"Mike doesn't want to see you in his group."

"Sir, as long as he doesn't speak to me, I won't even know he's there. I'll stay out of his way. I promise."

Duncan rose from his chair, and moved to the front of his desk. "Anderson... I like you, okay? But I'm worried about you. I'm worried that if you don't get help, you're going to snap one day, and then who knows where you'll end up."

"It's not like that, sir... It just this time of year, you know?"

"What? Veteran's Day?"

"Yeah. People grabbing me, shaking my hand, thanking me for my sacrifice and all that shit. A couple of weeks and it's over, and I'm good as new again. Well, you know... almost."

"Look at yourself, Anderson."

Auggie raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, poor choice of words. But you're a wreck, and you'd know that if you could see yourself. How long has it been since you've had a decent night's sleep?"

Auggie shrugged. "I'll do it. I'll call right away. I'll set up an appointment. I'll go, sir. I'll get help, sir."

"I'm holding you to it," he said, and laid a hand gently on Auggie's shoulder. He felt the younger man flinch beneath his touch. "Dismissed, Anderson."

Auggie returned to his office and shut the door. He reached behind his file drawer, and retrieved an envelope he had taped there when he first started at the ODMEO. Joan's list. He had read and re-read it, memorizing the seemingly random combinations of letters and numbers. He'd approached it from dozens of different angles, until a tenuous pattern began to emerge. He withdrew the single page from the envelope, and paused briefly before letting his fingers travel to the one local number that fit the pattern. He called and made the appointment and shredded the page. Then taking a second phone out of his pocket, he called Barber.

"2730 North Capitol Street, suite 412. Got it?"

"Got it!" the techie replied.

"The appointment's Thursday, seventeen hundred. That gives you three days."

"We'll have eyes and ears on you by then, Auggie. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried. I trust you."

* * *

><p>Joan paced the length of the room before turning to her junior officer. "Explain to me what this phone was doing in your desk."<p>

"That's not my phone," Annie replied, taken aback. "Where does it come from?"

"I was hoping you might tell us." Joan studied the younger woman. There was an innocent open quality to Annie's features. That air of innocence masked a steely resolve. Annie knew how to use that look to appeal to her marks and assets. Once she had even tried to use that same look on her, and had been called on it. Either she had improved her game since the Brambles fiasco, or she was genuinely surprised that a phone that had been found taped beneath her desk. "It's a burn phone, Annie. It's been relaying signals from the bug Auggie found in his hotel room in Vermont to an outside device. And it was found in your desk."

"Does Auggie know?"

Joan didn't respond.

"Someone's got to tell him, Joan. I can be over at the Pentagon in fifteen ̶ "

"Auggie will be notified."

"Wait...Joan, are you suggesting that I would compromise Auggie's mission?"

"Stranger things have happened at this agency.

"You think I would put Auggie at risk? That's insane. Hell, I'll take a polygraph if that's what it takes."

Joan moved towards the door. "That's already arranged," she said, holding the door open. "They're waiting for you downstairs. These gentlemen will escort you."

"Joan..."

"They're waiting for you." The two officers moved in closer. "Go with these officers, and report back to me when you're done." With that dismissal she turned on her heel, returned to her office, and shut the door.

* * *

><p>Auggie moved through his apartment, methodically gathering the items he might need on his mission... his mission...finally. He allowed himself a brief smile at the thought. This was no time for smugness, however, and the smile vanished, replaced by an air of keen resolve as he turned his attention to the task at hand.<p>

He sat on the couch. Spread out across the coffee table was a panoply of small items, utilitarian necessities a blind man needed to function in a sighted world. There was a light and color detector that he had used early on, and a small digital voice recorder. Both had been made redundant when he'd bought his current phone. He suspected his phone would be one of the first things confiscated when they put him away, so into his messenger bag they went. He had a slate, a stylus, some note cards, and a couple of pens... just in case. He added a tactile compass, a cigarette lighter, spare batteries, and a pack of chewing gum. A small pouch held a couple of sets of earbuds and a Braille note taker that could attach to his phone or stand alone. He had his spare house keys and a pair of shades, in case he needed to play up the blind thing...All of this too, he stuffed into his bag. It wasn't much, and he felt nearly naked going out into the field without his usual array of gadgetry, but anything more would arouse suspicion.

He double checked his wallet. He had stored his Agency badge in his safe at the start of this mission, but needed to make sure that there was nothing else to identify him as a CIA operative. He found his photo ID, the one that had replaced his driver's license. He ran a fingertip over its smooth surface, trying, without success, to locate the thin RFID thread that Marty had embedded within it. Meant as a backup, it couldn't transmit, but could be tracked if the Agency had a general idea of his location. The card didn't feel any different, and he had to believe that it didn't look any different. Auggie wasn't a trusting person by nature, and there were only a handful of people outside his family that he trusted implicitly. Joan was one. Annie was another. Marty was a third, and Auggie had to believe that the tech wizard wouldn't do anything to put him at risk of discovery.

He kept his military ID, his gym membership card, and the business card of the local VA's blind services rep. He paused as he came across the worn edges of the photo he always carried, the one Danny had taken that last morning of his old life. For a moment he considered leaving it behind, but put it back in the wallet where he had carried it all these years. He was doing this for his boys. He couldn't bring back Billy, Chris, Jason, or even Danny. But there were others out there, just like them, and he wouldn't let the Agency or whoever it was screw them over too.

He drew a breath, and turned his attention to the two canes that remained on the table, and the thick stack of twenties at their side. He removed the grip from one of the canes then peeled off five hundred dollars. He rolled the bills into tight tubes which he stuffed into the canes, and hid them with a plug he had fashioned from a chunk of foam rubber, and replaced the grip. He did the same to the other cane. When done, he gave each a solid shake, smiling when he heard no betraying sound. He stuffed Marty's cane in his bag, and slipped the strap over his head.

He picked up the other and made one last circuit of his apartment. He'd probably be back in a few hours, but from this point on he was on high alert. He paused a moment to set the alarm, then, sliding the heavy door shut behind him, August Anderson headed out to meet his new therapist.

* * *

><p>"You passed your polygraph," Joan announced from behind her desk.<p>

Annie tapped her fingers on the armrest of the chair, not bothering to mask her annoyance. "You expected a different result?"

"It was a necessary precaution. Marty's checking the phone for prints and data before we turn it over to the Bureau. Any help you can give us, Annie, as to who might have planted it in your desk, would, of course, save us precious time. For obvious reasons, we can't farm this out to anyone who isn't cleared for this op."

Annie shrugged. "I've been out on missions most of the last month. Almost anyone here could have dropped that phone in my desk. Shouldn't be too hard to find who did it. Isn't everything that goes on here recorded?"

"Barber is on that now, in between handling his missions. But it's slow going. There are hundreds of hours of footage to study.

"We need to warn Auggie."

"We're working on a plan. It should be up and running by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Annie blurted. "I can tell him today!"

Joan shook her head. "If anyone were to recognize you..."

"They won't. I'll change my appearance. My whole demeanor"

"It's too risky, Annie. Let the department handle this."

Annie rose from her seat. "Are we done here?"

Joan nodded and watched Annie return to her desk. Ten minutes later, she was gone. Joan's lips curled in the merest hint of a smile. She could always count on Annie to do what she would have done.

* * *

><p>Auggie answered the phone. "Anderson."<p>

"Sir," Specialist Rivera announced, "there's a Dr. Laurie-Anne Bertrand here to see you. She doesn't have an appointment, but she says she's from the VA and that you know her?"

"Bertrand?" Auggie grinned. "Yeah, I think I've worked with her before. I'll be right out."

He caught a faint hint of grapefruit as he stepped into the vestibule. "Dr. Bertrand?" he asked extending his hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We like to check in with our former clients after they've transitioned into a new job, see how they're adjusting, find out if there's anything they need. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"I was just about to head out for coffee. Care to join me, Dr. Bertrand?"

He felt a familiar touch against the back of his hand. "Gladly," she answered, as he took her elbow.

They walked to the food court in silence. A short time later, coffee cups in hand, they threaded their way through the crowd. "Find us a table that's set apart from the crowd," Auggie suggested. "I don't want anyone listening in."

"This ain't my first rodeo, Auggie," Annie replied. "I know what I'm doing."

"I know you do. Sorry," he said, as Annie set his hand against the back of a chair. "So, why are you here? ? As much as I'm sure you've missed me, something tells me this is more than a social call."

"We have a problem." Annie quickly filled him in on the situation at the DPD. "So, once they cleared me, I figured you should be told."

Auggie pursed his lips and made a thoughtful noise. "I'm assuming Joan doesn't know you're here."

"She didn't exactly forbid my reading you in."

"You shouldn't have come here," Auggie said after a long moment of silence. "What if someone recognizes you?"

"I was careful, Auggie. I'm wearing a disguise."

"I thought you were moving differently. Flats?"

"Almost."

Auggie cast her his usual look of disbelief.

"Only three-inch heels. They're practically granny shoes."

"I'll make note of your sacrifice in my mission report."

"Oh har! Plus I'm wearing a wig and glasses. I'm actually looking kind of nerdy."

"Really?" Auggie said, waggling his eyebrows over his cup. On a deeper level, however, he chided himself for not even having considered the possibility of a disguise. It irked him to realize he was forgetting such simple visual trickery. More and more, not only the world of light and color, but the whole sighted way of thinking was slipping away from him, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. "So," he said, pushing the frustration aside before it could fester into bitterness, "what's the next step?"

"She didn't say much. Marty's team is checking it out. Barber's team is going over the security videos. That's all I know. I'm supposed to be at my desk, remember? But, if I know Joan, she'll carry out her investigation, and toss the bureau just enough crumbs to keep Rossabi off her case."

"Tell Barber to keep a close watch on Jai's movements. His desk is right next to yours. Plenty of opportunities right there. He could slip something in among your things without anyone noticing."

"C'mon, Auggie, I know you don't like the guy, but now you just sound paranoid."

"It's not about liking him. I just don't trust him. And I trust his father even less. Maybe Jai hasn't done anything wrong, still, I don't doubt for a moment that Henry use him to serve his ends, and would throw him under the bus to advance his own ambitions. He's done it before. "

"To Jai?"

"I dunno. But to others. Jai's mother for one."

"What did he do?"

"Not here. I'll tell you some day, over beers and pizza, after Henry's been locked away for treason." Auggie flipped the crystal of his watch and felt the time. "And now, Dr. Bertrand, congrats on the Ph.D. in passing, I need to get back to work. My new boss still isn't comfortable with having a blind officer wandering around where he can't keep tabs on me." He downed the last of his coffee and grabbed his cane. "After you."

They walked, arm in arm, to the elevators. "Be careful, okay?" Annie whispered, and gave his arm a squeeze. "The DPD just isn't the same without you."

"I'll be back before you know it." The elevator chimed. "Your ride is here. Wish me luck, Annie?"

Annie laughed as she held the door open. "You don't seem like the type to need luck, but good luck!"

Auggie listened as the elevator doors silenced the sound of Annie's laughter then turned and made his way back to his office. He paused a moment by Specialist Rivera's desk.

"Sir?"

"Dr. Betrand, what did she look like?"

There was a moment's hesitation before the young woman answered. "Does it matter?"

"Probably not, just curious."

"Five-five or so, slim. Short, dark brown hair, glasses. Looks Latina, but not Mexican. Fairer skinned. Maybe Cuban or South American.

"Pretty?"

"I guess she could be, but she needs some fashion pointers, a little makeup... "

"Why, Specialist Rivera," he teased, "do I hear a note of jealousy?" Silently he was congratulating Annie on successfully downplaying her looks. Women were harder to fool than men.

"Me, sir? Not a chance, I like a guy who drives a nice car, a guy who can tell me that I look pretty."

Auggie dramatically slapped a hand over his heart. "That's mean, Rivera, just mean. Break the blind guy's heart, why don't you." He headed towards his office, but paused by the door, and turned around. "By the way, Rivera, you look nice in green," he said with a wink, turned and went back to work.

* * *

><p>"Is that him?" Joan asked.<p>

Barber frowned at the frozen image on the screen. "Might be. But I have no idea who he is. Plus, he never once turns his face to the camera, so it could be anyone."

"The date fits. Three days after Danny's funeral. The day Annie left for Bilbao." Joan leaned in, studying the image more closely. "He knows where the cameras are and he's avoiding them."

"He's got to be someone who works here," Stu said. "He never would have gotten in otherwise. I can try to zoom in on his badge" He typed in a short command, and the camera closed in on the badge dangling from the man's belt. The image, however, was blurry. "Is that a nine...or maybe a four, and then a five..."

"No, that's a three," Barber said.

"Could be an eight..." Stu countered.

"This is pointless!" Joan said, in a rare show of frustration. "Run what we have through the system: Male, dark-haired, five-ten, 180-190 lbs."

"That's not much to go on, Joan."

"Right now it's all we've got. I want that mole, whoever he is, out of my division and away from my people."

* * *

><p>"Captain Anderson, are you still with me?"<p>

Auggie looked up, directing his gaze in the general direction of Dr. Fenton's voice.

"You were describing the type of missions your unit was assigned?"

The room was quiet, the silence punctuated only by the slow ticking of a clock off somewhere to his right, and the distant hum of traffic four floors down. He noted the jingle of the therapist's bracelets, and the scratching of her pen on paper. He had hoped she would be the type to use a tablet. He could have hacked into a tablet and erased any record of these sessions when all this was over. Locating pen and paper notes would prove considerably more difficult and he would have to get someone of his team to infiltrate her office. But that's where Barber's cameras would come in handy.

"Auggie?"

"We did stuff. We had to shut down their networks and get the intel. We were expected to do whatever it took to prevent terror attacks. Those were our orders, but..." Auggie leaned back in the chair and took a deep, shuddering breath. "But...well, it didn't always check out."

The pen stopped its scratching. "What do you mean?"

How much to reveal? Every op was a balancing act. A story too outrageous would blow his cover, too subtle, and it might take months to get anywhere. Truth, but in measured doses worked best.

"Captain Anderson, you're drifting away on me again." Her voice was gentle and soothing. Under different circumstances, he might actually have considered therapy with this woman.

Instead, he took another breath, shaking his head. "I can't go into operational details...it's all classified. ... only I know that corners were cut. Sometimes it seemed like it was more a question of quantity than of quality." A pained smile twisted his features. "They used to boast that our unit had the highest body count. But some of those guys we went after, it didn't make sense. After a while, I got the impression we were over there just to fill up some DoD tally sheet. " Auggie fell silent. Let her fill in the blanks.

"The men in your unit, did they feel the same way?"

Auggie shrugged. "It's not like we sat around camp baring our souls, sharing our troubles. It was all boasting and bullshit. They might have felt the same way about what we were doing, or maybe they tried not to think about it and just followed orders. We didn't talk about it. We just did our jobs and hoped we'd all make it home."

"Did you?"

"No." Auggie stood up and unfolded his cane. "I'm done."

"We still have twenty minutes."

"I'm out of here."

"Okay. I'll see you again on Monday?"

Auggie hesitated. "Yeah... maybe. I dunno. I'll see. I'll call you."

Twenty minutes later, Auggie stepped off the bus into the frigid autumn evening and pulled his hood over his cap. He tilted his face skywards, searching for a touch of warmth, but at some point during his commute the sun must have set or gone behind a cloud. The air was only cold with a bite that reminded him of the winters of his childhood. He wondered if there would be snow on the ground in the morning. As a kid, he had loved the snow, but he hated it now. Its silvery beauty was lost on him, and it only blurred contours and muffled sounds. "Blind man's fog" his O&M instructor had called it. It was an fitting description.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, and called Langley. "So, did you get that?" he asked, when Barber picked up.

Barber let out a sigh of relief. "Took your time about checking in, but yeah, you came in loud and clear. You were pretty convincing in there. You must have been pretty good back in the day."

"Still am, Barber, and don't you forget it," he said, and put the phone away.

He swung his cane in a wide arc and turned left. The sounds and smells of his Adams-Morgan neighborhood acted as beacons guiding his steps. He slowed as he came to the corner of Calvert, paused to listen to the traffic pattern, and pressed the button for the traffic light.

A vehicle pulled up in front of him, and stopped. He hated it when they did that. Why didn't they just obey the traffic signals, and leave it to him to figure out when it was safe to cross? He heard the lights cycle through, and listened for the sound of other cars nearby. There were none. He lined up and prepared to cross.

"Anderson, get in."

"What the..."

"It's me. Rossabi. Get in."

_To be continued..._


	12. The Waiting Time

_Hellooo? Are you still with me. So very sorry for the long delay between chapters. Life has taken a tumultuous turn in recent months, leaving me with a head full of ideas, but no time to write. It is still my plan to finish this story before the Season Three premiere on July 10th. Whether life decides to go along with that, well, that's a whole 'nuther story._

_In response to a couple of questions, Auggie's PTSD is mostly under control. His reaction to the sound of the construction drill was not intentional, but, never one to let an opportunity pass him by, he used it to solidify his cover story. _

_As always, thanks for all the reviews, alerts, and encouraging messages. They are what keeps me writing. Please let me know what you like, don't like, and any errors that get in the way of your enjoyment. Without further ado (you've waited long enough), enjoy the long and ironically titled ..._

**Chapter Eleven: The Waiting Time **

"Anderson, get in."

"What the..."

"It's me, Rossabi. Get in."

Auggie cursed quietly as he located the front bumper. He found the door, and leaned in through the open window. "Are you arresting me again? Because, you know, I have contacts. Your boss' boss, for one. All it takes is just one call..."

"Lose the snark, Anderson, and get in!"

"I do not believe this," Auggie grumbled, but got in, and at once the Suburban began to move.

"Tell me," Rossabi began, "how do you define interagency cooperation?"

"I've been holding up my end of the deal. If you've got a problem, take it up with my boss."

"Yeah, funny you should mention that," Rossabi said with a humorless chuckle, "because your boss isn't returning my calls."

Auggie shrugged. "Maybe there's nothing to report."

"Really? 'Cause that's not what I'm hearing. What I'm hearing is that your spook friends are conducting their own investigation. Looks like there's another mole at Langley. And rumor has it, they're investigating your girlfriend."

"I don't have a girlfriend," Auggie smirked.

"Really? So the hot blonde ..."

"I assume you're referring to Case Officer Walker? She's not my girlfriend. And why would they be investigating her? She's on our team."

"You really don't know, do you?"

Auggie threw up his hands in surrender. "How would I? Minimal contact, remember? That means I check in regularly to let them know I'm alive and still on the case. They don't tell me what they're doing."

For a long moment Rossabi said nothing. Lying was second nature to these spooks. Maybe Anderson was in the loop, maybe he wasn't. But for now, he was his only way into Langley and key to his investigation. "Alright," he said. "Okay. I don't have much, thanks to your boss. Someone's been tracking your moves since your little field trip to Vermont."

"Old news. I told you someone tried to plant a bug on me at Captain Bolduc's funeral. What does this have to do with Annie?"

"Some people at the DPD think she's the mole. Sent her for a polygraph. Downgraded her clearances."

Auggie laughed in spite of himself. "That's ridiculous."

"Don't believe me? Call her," Rossabi replied, touching his phone to Auggie's hand.

"So you can pull some G-man trick and hack her phone? Thanks, but I'll find out in my own way." He turned to face Rossabi. "So is that why you dragged me out here, just to tell me that?"

Rossabi eased the vehicle into a slow right turn. "No. The CIA might go in for that sort of thing," he said, and shifted into 'Park'. "I've told you what I know. How 'bout a little quid pro quo?"

"I've already told you all I can." Auggie answered.

"All you can or all you know."

"Same thing. I'm working my cover. The pieces are in place. Now it's just a matter of time."

Rossabi uttered a growl of frustration. "We're on a schedule! How much time do you think we have? You people act like we're on different sides here. I just want some straight answers for once."

"I don't have any answers for you yet. And that is the truth. You're going to have to trust me and wait, just like the rest of the team."

Again Rossabi laughed. "Trust you?"

"It's not like you have any other options. I'm already in, but these things take time."

"I don't have the manpower to sit around waiting for you to make your move. You need to speed things up."

"No go. I'm not going to jeopardize this mission just because you're in a hurry. This isn't your only case. Go breathe down someone else's neck. If it helps, just sit back and think of all the glory you'll get when you nail one of our guys for treason."

"You have suspicions? If you have evidence of wrongdoing, you are required to turn it over to me."

Auggie shook his head. "It's too early. As soon as I have something actionable, you'll know," he explained in the same tone he might have used with a small child.

Rossabi slapped his hand against the steering wheel. "That's not the way we're supposed to be working this op. You bring your suspicions to me. We catch the bad guys. You crawl back into the shadows. Case closed."

"Look, maybe that's how it works in your world. Black and white. Cut and dry. Only the Bureau sees things that way."

"Okay," Rossabi replied. "So how do you see it?"

"Shades of gray. Metaphorically speaking, of course," Auggie added with a wry grin. "It's not so clear cut in our world. You're looking for absolutes, for certainties. In my world, we deal in maybes."

"I can't lock up someone on maybes. I need evidence that proves guilt beyond any reasonable doubt."

"Which is why your side is investigating possible criminal activity and my team is tracking down an intelligence failure."

"Yeah, that looks good on paper. But that line between investigation and intel gathering is getting blurry." Rossabi paused a moment as a woman pushed a cart past the Suburban. He continued in a quieter voice when she was a safe distance away. ""Look, Anderson, I'm willing to give your side a chance because, believe me or not, what happens to our vets matters to me, too. But if you're burying evidence so that Langley can go on playing its spy games, I will drag your spook ass off the case and put in one of my own men instead."

"Good luck with that." Auggie smiled coldly. "You don't have anyone with my cred." He released his seatbelt, reached for the handle, and opened the door.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Auggie unfolded his cane. "Home."

Rossabi laughed. "You don't even know where we are."

"Really?" Auggie shot Rossabi a look of pure scorn. "When I was in rehab, still learning how to live without my sight, they drove me around the city for an hour and dropped me off with orders to find my way back on my own. No cab fare. No phone. No GPS. I had four hours. I was back in two. You were facing north when you picked me up, and we took one right turn. You drove five minutes and thirty-two seconds, past one major intersection. I'm guessing we're in Lanier Heights. There are shopping carts rattling around, so I'll go out on a limb and say that this is the Safeway parking lot. But, hey," he added with a twisted grin, "I'm blind. What do I know?"

"Get back in, Anderson," Rossabi huffed in resignation.

Auggie turned around. "Never would have made you for a Boy Scout, Rossabi."

"Eagle Scout, actually."

"Really?" Auggie paused and gave a dry chuckle of laughter. "They must have been giving those badges out like Cracker Jack prizes," Auggie smirked, but he folded his cane and climbed back into the SUV.

The agent threw Auggie a look of disgust, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "smart ass", and set off once more. He drove on in silence until, a short while later, he pulled to the side of a busy street corner. "Back where we started. You need a ride home?"

"Nah, I'm good." Auggie released his seatbelt and opened the door.

"Before you go," Rossabi said, "tell me something..."

Auggie closed his eyes briefly. "More questions?"

"This problem you got sharing information, is it with the whole Bureau, or is it just with me?"

Auggie stepped out of the vehicle and leaned in the window. "The Bureau screwed over a friend of mine a few years back. The fallout was bad ... for a whole lot of people. I don't know. Maybe you were part of that clusterfuck, maybe you weren't, but it all goes back to the Bureau seeing everything in either black or white." He shook out his cane, locked the sections in place, and turned towards Rossabi again. "You know, Rossabi, sometimes I think when it comes to looking beyond absolutes, my sight's a lot clearer than yours."

* * *

><p>Henry Wilcox watched the early morning sun pierce the mist rising off the Potomac. He took a long sip of coffee, and let his gaze wander across the broad expanse of green, down to the leafless trees lining the river. He glanced again at the note in his hand and a feral smile curled his lips.<p>

He'd known the kid would crack. Given what he knew, what he'd been through, it was inevitable. And here at long last was the proof.

There had been a time, many years ago, when he'd thought that August Anderson would be just the man to take over his corps of special operatives. He was strong, resourceful, focused, and, at a time when the right tech was as important as having the right people, the kid had a knack for figuring out anything that relied on circuitry.

Henry had watched Anderson's progress, but just when he'd been ready to bring him in to his secret unit of ghost operatives, he'd suffered an attack of scruples and had begun questioning his orders.

Henry Wilcox had never been one to believe in luck. A man made his own luck. His choices in life were all his own, as was his destiny. Still, when he'd almost shown Anderson his hand, Lady Luck had stepped in to make sure his darkest secrets remained safe.

It would have been best, of course, if Anderson had perished with the rest of his unit. Instead he'd returned to the Agency in record time, and had proved himself as determined behind a desk as he'd ever been in the field. Henry had tried to warn Arthur that the kid, even blind, was still dangerous. Did they listen? No, instead, embroiled in schemes of their own, they forced him out, dismissed him as a scheming old bastard with outdated methods.

Well, payback was about to kick them in the teeth. They'd finally seen that Anderson was a liability, a danger to his department and the whole Agency. He'd gone rogue twice already, and it was bound to happen again. Although he gave the appearance of being content, Wilcox knew the kid had to be ravaged with resentment, bitterness, and guilt. All those who were burdened with scruples were.

He loosened his grip on the crumpled paper he held, gave it one last look to memorize the words, and walked over to the fireplace. As he watched the flames darken and consume the single page, his thoughts turned to the road ahead.

Jai hadn't been able to say whether Anderson had left the Agency of his own accord, or if strings had been pulled to get him a better position at the Pentagon. All Henry knew was that Anderson was out of the CIA, and that very soon there would be one less obstacle on his path to the State Department. It was just a matter of time.

* * *

><p>Auggie sat in the food court, enjoying his first coffee of the day amidst the sounds of Pentagon staff rushing to their jobs. He fished into his messenger bag, pulled out a phone, and dialed a rarely used number.<p>

"Acquisitions."

"Hey, kiddo."

"Hey, yourself!"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Find me everything you can dig up on Special Agent Vincent Rossabi."

Annie laughed. "Rossabi? You seriously think he's hiding something?"

"I don't know. But if this guy's supposed to be on our team, I want to know who he's really playing for."

"I think you're just being paranoid, but okay."

"Even the paranoid have enemies. Oh, and... uhm... let's keep this between ourselves for now."

Annie laughed. "Still keeping secrets?"

"It's what I do," Auggie replied with an audible smile, "Gotta go," he said, smiling still, and ended the call.

* * *

><p>"I ran the phone's card. Again." Barber grumbled. "Nothing."<p>

"What do you mean, nothing?" Joan asked, striding into Tech Ops. "You can't intercept its calls?"

"We can intercept them, no problem. The damn thing just isn't transmitting anything of value. Just random beeps every now and then to show that it's still live."

They fell silent as a custodial worker came by to pick up the burn bags. As soon as he left, Annie asked, "Are we sure they're random?"

"We've run them through everything we have, no hits yet."

"So," Joan asked, "what are they waiting for?"

"Maybe whoever it is that planted it, forgot about it," Stu suggested.

Joan shook her head. "That would be too much of a coincidence. They're waiting for us to make our move.

"Or for Auggie to make his," the junior techie suggested.

* * *

><p>"Captain Anderson," Specialist Rivera announced peering through Auggie's office door. "Dr. Bertrand on Line One."<p>

Auggie slid his headphones down around his neck. "I can't take her call right now. Get me her number and I'll call her back in a bit." He was hoping Annie had found something on Rossabi, some shady dealings he could use as leverage with the agent.

A hesitant knock sounded on the door frame a moment later. "Sir, I have her number here. You want me to text it to you?"

"No, give me a second, and I'll write it down." He reached across his desk for his Braille slate, a stylus, and a note card.

"Going low tech, sir? Why don't you just type in into your computer?"

"I might want to add it to my rolodex. What's the number?"

Rivera called out the digits, as Auggie quickly punched them into the card. As soon as Rivera returned to her desk, Auggie rose and shut the door. He checked his watch, pulled out his burn phone, and running his fingers over the note card, quickly punched in the number. "Hey," he smiled when the familiar voice answered, "what's up doc?"

Annie replied with a groan.

"They can't all be winners. What did you find?"

"Nothing you didn't know already. He's on the up and up. Not even a parking ticket.

"So the guy's clean."

"As a whistle." Annie waited for a reply that didn't come. "You sound disappointed. Why do you want to know all this, anyway?"

"It's always good to know your adversary."

"Yeah, except he's on our side, remember?" I did learn one thing you might find interesting..."

"Lemme guess... Special Agent Rossabi is an Eagle Scout?"

Annie let out a gasp of surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Keep digging, okay? Auggie asked, a note of mischief in his voice. "Gotta run, kiddo."

"Digging? Where?" But the line went dead before the question had fully left Annie's lips.

* * *

><p>From behind the tinted windows of her parked car, Joan Campbell watched her team straggle into the restaurant. Not Allen's, the usual spook hangout, where the walls were as porous as Langley's, but an anonymous Denny's in Alexandria, where they could pass for a group of office co-workers out for lunch. Which they were. Sort of.<p>

She was doubly vigilant today, as she always was when involving civilians or worse, techies. Although Barber had been on a few covert entries, Marty and Stu were novices as covert operatives. She could only keep her fingers crossed and hope they would remember to take basic precautions.

Marty arrived first, and entered without checking for a tail. Joan watched as he chatted briefly with the hostess who led him towards the back of the restaurant. Barber arrived next, glanced around and darted inside. Annie and Stu arrived together, arm in arm, Annie all laughter and smiles, and Stu... blushing? Joan waited a few minutes longer, and followed them inside.

The men all leaped to their feet when she arrived, and Stu stepped up to pull Joan's chair. The boy really did have excellent manners. "So, what have you got?" she asked as soon as the waitress left with their drink orders.

"We've narrowed our choices down to three possibilities," Barber began, shoving his tablet across the formica tabletop. He hit a key, and brought up a file, and the photo of a plain-faced man of middle years. "Behind door number one," he announced, "Thomas James Neale. Born March 2, 1952, Five-ten, one-seventy. Recruited in college, he came to the Agency just as Henry was putting together his ops teams for Operation Condor."

"Operation Condor?" Stu asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Before your time," Joan replied.

"Wait," Annie interjected, "wasn't that when the CIA was suspected of being behind the 1973 coup in Chile, the one that got rid of Allende and put Pinochet in place?"

"That's still classified." Joan whispered.

Barber cast a cautious glance around the diner, dropped his voice and continued, "Neale was a hotshot and something of a cowboy, and it wasn't long before he caught Henry's eye. As Henry's star rose so did Neale's. Within a few years, he was station chief in Santiago where he had a hand in most South American ops. He fully expected to be put in charge of the Latin American division when Henry became DCS, but Henry had someone else in mind. After that his career seemed to stall. A bunch of lateral moves Thailand, Central Asia, Egypt, Mali, but no real promotions. He transferred home to Langley in ninety-six and has been working logistics and analysis for the western Africa desk."

"From the action and excitement of South America," Joan observed, "to the backwater of western Africa, that's quite a change of pace."

Barber explained. "He was the one who requested the transfer. He's been here at Langley ever since, killing time until he retires next year.

"Isn't he a little old to be our mole?" Stu asked.

"He's sixty, but fit," Barber replied.

Annie shook her head. "It doesn't make sense. He's a year away from retirement, why jeopardize a full pension this late in the game? He may have been a maverick at one time, but it looks like he's loyal. He stayed, didn't he? Even when he was passed over."

"Those are valid points," Joan said, "Who else do we have?"

Barber grinned and brought up another screen. "Behind door number two, meet John David Tomacek."

"Yikes, that's a lot of holes!" Annie exclaimed.

Barber continued. "John David Tomacek, born September 20, 1965, five-ten, one-hundred-seventy-eight, at his last physical. Enlisted in the Marine Corps right out of high school. Did one peacetime tour, went to college on the G.I. Bill and studied military intelligence, then returned to the Marines as an intelligence officer just in time to watch the end of the Bosnian War."

"A frustrated Mustang," Joan said. "Just what the Agency needs."

"Yeah," Barber continued. "He came to the CIA in 2002, where he worked on a number of Henry's special projects. He earned a reputation as the go-to guy for any kind of odd-job, keyword 'odd'."

"Hence the holes in his history," Marty suggested.

"Yep. His file is seriously redacted, with more blackout than type. When Henry retired, Tomacek transferred to the Directorate of Support and is now teaching at the Farm."

"And we think he's our mole because...?" Joan asked.

"Aside from his size and a possible hit on the I.D., he's loyal to Henry. From what I could make out, his path may have crossed Auggie's a time or two."

Annie studied the screen. "His file says he left Langley shortly after Arthur took over as DCS," Annie suggested. "He could still be running clandestine ops for Henry."

Joan considered the possibility. "Any unexplained absences from Camp Peary?"

"I can look into it," Stu suggested.

"Let me know what you find. And let's get some eyes on him." Joan paused while the waitress brought their food. As soon as she left, Joan asked Eric, "And behind door number three?"

Barber brought up a third screen. "David Kenneth Ross. November 19, 1972. Five-nine. One-sixty-five. This guy's a longshot. He works in support, as a number-cruncher for facilities management. He's never worked an op."

"So why are we looking at him?" Annie asked.

"Like the others, he fits the physical description, and his I.D. might be a match," Barber replied.

"Don't be deceived by his looks or his file," Joan said. "He could have been recruited as a deep cover operative, trained in secret, and given an Agency NOC. Wouldn't be the first time."

Annie and Stu's eyes grew wide. "The details are deeply classified," Joan explained, "but it has happened. The higher ups have been known to set up their own 'private' networks of operatives, usually to conduct highly compartmentalized missions. You've known one such operative, Annie."

Ben! Annie knew Ben was a ghost, a spy who, in the books, did not exist. There was no reason to think he was the only one of his kind. "But why would they place someone within the Agency?" she asked. "Aren't all the polygraphs, background checks, and security measures enough to ensure that the Agency can monitor everything we do?"

Joan sipped her tea, while she considered how to phrase her reply. "The Agency has not always been as transparent as we've tried to become these past years. These days we require that our officers follow procedure, abide by a strict code of conduct. Still, the very nature of our work demands secrecy and duplicity. We lie. We cheat, Annie. We steal. We mislead. It's the nature of the job. The moral high ground we like to think we stand on gets awfully shaky at times, but we always hope that our misdeeds are counterbalanced by our service to a greater good.

Annie nodded, hearing in her boss' words echoes of a conversation she'd had over glasses of Scotch when she was still new to the Agency. "We're all in the mud?"

Joan lips twitched in a wry half smile. "It's all part of the game, Annie, and something we use with foreign agents and assets, but never, except in cases of the direst need, with our own people." She paused to choose her next words with care. "But some higher ups in the Agency, some who rose in the ranks during murkier times, feel that rules should be more flexible. That the security of our nation is best served through actions we would condemn our enemies for, actions that would be viewed as reprehensible in any other context. And even though times have changed, that mentality still rules in certain quarters. It's kept secret now, of course, but I have no doubt that there are still a certain number of deep cover operatives in the Agency, whose loyalty is not to the Agency or even to America, but to the individual who recruited them."

"Does Director Petraeus know?"

"What makes you think I would be privy to what the Director of the CIA knows or doesn't know?"

"Does Auggie know?" Annie asked, alarmed.

Joan shrugged. "He's smart. I imagine he suspects. Don't forget he was a special operative with the SAD back when Henry was in charge. He saw his share of ghosts and compartmentalized missions."

"Does he know that someone at the Agency is running one on him now?"

"Even if he did, it wouldn't change anything."

Annie opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. She'd quickly learned that in the CIA it was usually better to ask for forgiveness after the fact, than to ask permission before hand.

Joan turned to the next item on her agenda. "Any updates on the burn phone you found under Annie's desk?"

Stu shook his head. "Still nothing."

"Keep an eye on it. Don't damage it, and don't interfere with the signal. Whoever is behind this is bound to grow complacent or bored if nothing happens."

"But we won't," Stu said, with a sly grin.

"The second it goes active for any traceable length of time, I want you guys all over that phone. I want to know what it's transmitting and to whom, and I want to know before anyone else can trace it."

Barber fidgeted in his seat, and cleared his throat.

"Is there something you want to add, Eric?"

"Shouldn't we be reading in the Bureau in on this?" he asked. "This is their operation after all, isn't it?"

"This is strictly need to know. The Bureau's job is to monitor Auggie's op, not our own internal activities."

"Yeah, but if someone's involved in spying on our own officers, doesn't that fall under their jurisdiction?" He lowered his gaze to the twisted napkin in his hands, unwilling to meet Joan's basilisk glare.

"When we have something actionable, trust that I will share it with Special Agent Rossabi. In the meantime, focus on your ops and on monitoring Auggie's movements. He's checking in?"

"Every day. Like clockwork," Barber nodded, relieved of the change in topic.

"Marty? Anything else on the bug?"

"Auggie didn't leave me much to work with," he replied with a shrug. "I reconnected the circuitry, but it's like the phone, it emits the occasional blip, that's all."

"Don't toss it yet. Keep it somewhere safe, it might still prove useful." She drained the last of her tea and signaled for the check. The team members all scrambled for their wallets. At least they're not reaching for their credit cards, Joan thought with satisfaction. Not bad for a bunch of geeks. "I've got this one, gentlemen." she said with a gracious smile. "Annie?"

They walked out to the parking lot, without saying a word, until, at length, Joan broke the silence. "I know you want to rush out and warn Auggie."

"Shouldn't he be read in? Doesn't he need to know?"

"What makes you think he doesn't? Don't assume he's out of the loop just because he's out of Langley. He's been with the Agency long enough to know how things work."

"He despises Henry Wilcox."

"He has good cause to."

Annie arched her brows quizzically but her unasked question went unanswered. They stopped by Joan's car. "Don't rush out to the Pentagon. Each time you set foot there, you jeopardize Auggie's NOC. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

><p>Auggie checked his watch, and sighed. Half an hour to go before he could give up at least part of the subterfuge and return to the office.<p>

"Auggie," Dr. Fenton's voice intruded, "You were beginning to say something about the missions you led, about inconsistencies?"

The room was quiet save for the persistent ticking of the clock in the background. Even the shrink's pen was silent.

Auggie took a breath and went on. "Those missions are still classified. I'm not supposed to talk about them." He said nothing more, but stared sullenly at the floor.

"You know," Dr. Fenton continued, "whatever you say here is protected speech. I'm sworn to secrecy."

"Yeah? Well, so was I."

"Okay, so without spilling any state secrets or going into any operational details; is it safe to assume that you didn't always agree with your orders?"

"I respected the chain of command."

"That's not what I asked."

"I followed my orders."

"But you had doubts."

Auggie frowned. "Don't put words in my mouth." He paused and licked his lips. He had to sell this next part. The whole op could be riding on this. His gaze darted about the room, as if searching for a furtive shadow or lurking presence. "Look," he said, leaning forward, "we were tasked with taking out insurgent cells, terrorists who would not hesitate to kill Americans. I had no problem with that. As long as we had reliable intel, my guys would get the job done."

"So it was all good?"

Auggie shook his head. "The more kills we racked up, the riskier the missions became. As time went by, we found that the intel was becoming less reliable. The targets didn't always turn out to be what we'd been told. A couple of times, I had to draw my unit back."

"Why?"

"This one time, what was supposed to be a training camp turned out to be an orphanage. I don't know, maybe it was a front, but I didn't want my guys to have the blood of little children on their conscience."

"So what happened? Were you disciplined?"

Auggie shook his head. "My CO wasn't like that. He was a good man. I think he respected my motives. Besides, an officer's first duty is to his men. The general knew what the payback would have been like if we'd gone in with guns blazing and killed all those children."

"You said there was more than one incident?"

"After that, things started going downhill. Sometimes it was just difficult targets. Most of the time, though, it was on our end. We were plagued with logistics failures, equipment malfunctions, absence of support. Two men were pulled out of my unit just as we were leaving for one mission, and a newbie, an unvetted Iraqi, was transferred in. We could still do our jobs, we still completed our missions, but sometimes it seemed like we spent more time fighting our own side."

"Do you think it was deliberate, some kind of retribution for what happened at the orphanage?"

Auggie shrugged.

"Tell me about your last mission, the one that cost you your sight."

"Mistakes were made," he said shaking his head.

"What kind of mistakes?'

"Equipment failures. Shoddy intel. The usual. I got the impression our CO was expecting this whole thing to go Tango Uniform."

"Why's that?"

He leaned back, and closed his eyes. "The general would get all fired up whenever he'd get the green light for a new mission. But this time, he seemed weary... resigned, almost. Thinking back on it afterwards, I think he suspected things might go badly. I don't think he expected any of us to make it back. The more I think about it, the more I think were weren't supposed to."

The chair creaked. Auggie pictured Dr. Fenton sitting up straighter. "Why do you say that?"

"We had these decks of playing cards. Terror decks. Maybe you heard of them?"

"Go on."

"The guy on the terror card he gave me. Our target." Auggie paused, and heard the therapist lean forward. "It wasn't the same guy that we had on our terror decks." Auggie paused to let that sink in. "I have a photographic memory, well... had one, you know, until..." and he gestured vaguely at his eyes. "Now it's more phonographic."

"Auggie..."

"It wasn't the same guy. And then, when we reached Tikrit, our mics stopped working, as if the frequency had been switched. The support we were expecting never showed up. We were five guys going alone into an insurgent compound. They never send in units without backup."

"And after the attack..."

"I don't know for sure, but from what I could piece together afterwards, I guessed that they sent in a recovery unit, and found only three bodies when there should have been five. That's when they sent the Bravo Unit to find me. That left one guy who was never found. The one who betrayed us."

"Are you saying they deliberately tried to eliminate your unit?"

"You have the facts. Draw your own conclusions."

"That's not what I'm here for, Auggie," she said kindly. "I'm here to help you deal with what happened, for whatever reasons. But I think that you want answers."

He shrugged. "Answers wouldn't change anything. Afterwards, I had a lot of time to think about everything that happened. I don't believe in karma. I've seen too many bastards get ahead to believe that what goes around comes around. But still, for a long time, I couldn't help but think that this," he said, waving a hand before his sightless eyes, "was retribution. I was supposed to be looking out for them, but there was something I missed... something I didn't see. I didn't see the traitor right in front of me. So, lights out. It's only fair, right?

"Do you really think your blindness is a punishment for not having been able to save your unit?"

"I did. But I don't anymore." Auggie sat up straight, and squared his shoulders. "It took a long time, but eventually I realized, I'm not the one who betrayed their trust. I did everything I could to keep them safe. I'm not the one who let them down. Someone higher up wanted that mission to fail."

* * *

><p>Joan hurried up to the mezzanine, grabbing a stack of folders along the way. A quick glance towards the briefing room told her the New York team was awaiting orders.<p>

"Director Campbell? Joan Campbell?"

She spun around, and came face-to-face with a dark-suited man wearing a visitor's badge. "Who are you? Who let you in?"

"You are Joan Campbell?" he asked, eyeing her badge. There was no point in denial.

"Yes, and you are?"

"My name is Paul Martinez," he answered drawing an envelope from the inside pocket of his overcoat. "I work for Senator Reid's office."

Joan's felt her stomach give a lurch, but she recovered quickly. "And what does the Senate Majority Leader want with me?"

Martinez continued. "I have a subpoena for you to testify at a hearing to consider the appointment of Henry Wilcox as be Assistant Secretary of State for the Department of State's foreign intelligence division.

She threw the staffer a quizzical look. "No invitation this time, he went straight to the subpoena?"

"CIA officers, especially those who operate covertly have been known to be, how shall I say, less than forthcoming when invited to testify before the Senate. Senator Reid wishes to impress upon you the importance of your testimony."

Joan's assistant signaled to her from the briefing room and tapped her watch.

Joan held out the envelope. "Mr. Martinez, please present my regrets to Senator Reid, but unless I receive assurances that certain provisions will be in place, I cannot testify. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are matters of national security that require my attention."

Martinez pushed back the envelope. "Director Campbell, Senator Reid asked me to assure you that every necessary precaution will be in place to protect your status, as well as that any other CIA personnel who may be called to testify."

Joan pursed her lips. "I take it the DCS is being subpoenaed as well?"

"Ma'am, I'm not at liberty to-"

"Never mind, I'll know soon enough" she said, and turned towards the briefing areas. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm sure you can find your way out."

She caught her assistant by the arm as she joined the New York team. "Call Arthur. Tell him I'll be in his office in 30 minutes."

* * *

><p>Dr. Angela Fenton shook her head sadly, as she watched as the elevator doors close behind the blind army officer. So much courage. So much repressed grief and anger. And losses far greater than merely that of his sight."<p>

"Shall I send in your next client, Dr. Fenton?"

Dr. Fenton looked up her secretary. "Give me a couple of minutes, okay? Offer him a cup of coffee or something."

"Sure."

She entered her office and closed the door. She flipped to the back of her appointment book, to the phone number she'd been told to call to report cases such as Captain Anderson's. It was for their own good, they'd assured her. Just to set up precautionary measures, in case these guys snap. But Auggie wasn't like the others. Besides, how much damage could a blind man do? Still, she'd agreed to do as they said. It wasn't as if they'd given her much choice. She dialed the number.

* * *

><p>Eric Barber backed through the double doors of the DPD, balancing a calzone, a drink and a bag of cheese doodles.<p>

"Dude! Where were you?" Stu asked, rushing up to meet him.

"I just stepped out for a minute to grab a bite. Geez!" He turned and noticed the junior tech's frantic expression. "What's going on?"

Stu looked around. He said nothing, but pushed Barber into the Tech Ops enclosure. He slid the door shut. "The phone, the one hidden in Annie's desk?"

"What about it?" Barber said, and started unwrapping his lunch.

"It lit up like a Christmas tree just after you left. It's active!"

At once Barber forgot his meal, and spun 'round to the computer. "Are we tracking it?"

"More than that," Stu grinned. "I've got an address for you."

"Well... C'mon Stu, you're killing me here. Spill."

"2730 North Capitol Street."

"Auggie's therapist?"

Stu gave a crooked smile. "Anyone else in that building would be too much of a coincidence."

Barber nodded. "Good work, Grasshopper. We've got eyes and ears in that place. Copy whatever we have from that feed. Then we'll go read Joan in."

"We?"

"You're the one who broke this open. You get to tell the boss-lady the good ... wait, what the -."

"What's going on?" Stu asked.

"It's just connected to another number."

* * *

><p>Henry Wilcox pressed the phone to his ear and listened closely as his operative relayed the therapist's message. A cold smile formed on his lips. This was working out even better than he could have hoped for. He let the man finish, then asked, "Is that everything she said?"<p>

"Word for word, sir."

"Good. Very good. Then I guess we need to pick him up, and get him to our treatment facility. Have the team in place, and don't underestimate him just because he's blind. He's highly trained and deadly. You have my permission to use force if necessary."

"How much force, sir?"

"As much as it takes to neutralize the threat."

* * *

><p>Barber sped up to Joan's office and knocked sharply on the door. He rushed in without waiting for an invitation. "Joan, you've got to see this."<p>

Joan followed him to his office where Stu's attention was fixed on a pair of computers. Signals flashed across one screen, disappeared and appeared again on the second. "What is it?" Joan asked.

"The burn phone. It went active about ten minutes ago. It sent a series of messages to another phone."

"Where?"

Stu typed furiously on the second computer's keyboard. "Come on...come on..." he muttered under his breath.

The first screen went dark. "Damn! The phone here just went off-line."

Stu looked up, a dazed look on his boyish features. "It's okay," he laughed breathlessly. "I got it. It's a 571 area code...give me a minute...Fall's Church!"

"Address? Barber asked.

"Coming up..." Stu scribbled it on a notepad. He was beaming as he held it out.

Joan gave it a quick glance. "Get a team out there now!"

* * *

><p>A quiet knock sounded on the door frame. Auggie pushed his headphones down around his neck and looked towards the door. "Specialist Rivera?"<p>

"Sir, I'm just about done. Will you be needing anything before I leave?"

"Heading home early, Rivera?"

"It's six-thirty, sir."

Auggie touched a finger to the face of his watch. "So it is. Get out of here, Rivera, before I start thinking you're bucking for a promotion."

"Yes, sir. I'll see you in the morning."

"Not if I see you first," Auggie replied with a wink.

Rivera laughed. "No worries on that account, sir. G'night."

Auggie laughed and waved her off. After weeks of tiptoeing around his blindness, Rivera and the rest of his staff were beginning to relax around him. It was about time. He missed the easygoing acceptance he had at Langley, and his friendship with Annie, Stu, Barber, and even, though he hated to admit it, Jai.

He unplugged the headphones, and let the jazz notes fill the office. Vijay Iyer. Sublime. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and let the waves of rolling arpeggios wash over him. It had been a long day, made longer by the time he'd spent with Dr. Fenton, walking that fine line between secrecy and candor, and parceling out tiny pieces of truth wrapped in layers of deceit.

He stretched his arms over his head, cracked his knuckles, and turned his attention back to the Braille display. He was double-checking some numbers for a 4th floor retrofit when he heard the door in the vestibule. "Forget something, Rivera?" he teased. But there was no answer.

He shook his head and focused once more on the numbers scrolling under his fingertips. Still, he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that he was being watched. He turned to the door. "Major Duncan, is that you, sir?" Again there was no answer.

His senses now fully alert, he strained to make out any wayward sound, but nothing disturbed the music playing through the computer. He typed a quick command, then turned off the computer monitor, and reached for his cane. He grabbed his phone, pressed a key, typed a second quick message but didn't send it just yet. He set it down by the keyboard, then he slipped his bag across his chest. "Who's there," he asked again, more for the intruder's benefit than for his own. He waited, hit the "send" key on his phone a second time, and stepped into the vestibule.

"Who's there?" He sensed a movement to his left, and turned to follow it. Almost simultaneously, he heard a movement off to the right. In its wake trailed a familiar resinous scent, as out-of-place in the Pentagon, as it had been in a Vermont church hall.

He heard the quiet rustle of clothing, and footsteps, not quite muffled by the carpet. He'd have been surprised if they'd sent someone in alone. He shifted his gaze to where the second intruder was standing. "I know you're here," he said. "And I know that there are two of you."

"Then it's best if you just come with us," the intruder said. "Don't even think of resisting," he added. "Or we'll resort to other measures."

Auggie didn't recognize the voice. It was at once calm and forceful, and without the least note of urgency. Whoever this guy was, he was confident of his superiority. In any other situation, Auggie would have fought like hell, and taught them both a quick and painful lesson about the danger of underestimating your opponent. But if he wanted to get to the bottom of this...

Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed him, and shoved his wrists behind his back. He spun 'round, freeing himself before their grip was secure. "Dude, I need my hands!" he said, moving back a step. "I'll go with you, just leave me my hands, 'cause you know..." and he waved a hand before his eyes.

A moment of silence. Were they exchanging glances? Keep them talking. "Just tell me who you and your buddy are and where you're taking me."

"We've received reports that you've been behaving erratically. You're a danger to yourself and to the people around you."

Good. Keep talking, "What? Who reported me? Dr. Fenton? Wait, was it that asshole Mike?"

"You need more focused care."

"What? According to who? Who said that? It isn't anyone from this office."

"Just keep calm, sir," the man said, his words followed by a rustle of movement.

Auggie braced for impact. Instead of the expected blow, however, he felt a hand fasten around his arm as he was shoved towards the door. He shook free. "Let go. I said I'd go with you!"

It went against all his instincts, but he did not resist. If he was to have any chance of seeing this mission through, he couldn't show his hand yet. He had to let them underestimate him, and wait for the right opportunity. Now wasn't the time. And while a few simple moves would put his assailants on the ground, leaving them gasping for air, he'd probably wind up losing his cane, his bag and any chance of future escape. He couldn't risk it. Not yet.

He analyzed the situation. They wouldn't want to cause a scene at the Pentagon. Even at this late hour, the place was buzzing with activity. They'd want to make everything look as normal as possible.

Again, the sharp scent of pine filled his nostrils. What was that stuff anyway? He twisted out of the man's grip. The fingers tightened around his arm. "No," he said firmly, freeing his arm for a moment, and reaching for the other man's elbow, "this way is better. This way, you lead, and I follow." Not to mention, Auggie thought, that it places me in a much better position to take you down when the time comes.

They took a sharp right as they left the office. The elevators. He swung his cane wide, and found the open doors. Instinctively he braced himself, fearing they would shove him down an open shaft.

"Get in!" the second man hissed and shoved him in. He reached out with his cane. Thankfully, the floor of the elevator was where it should be. Damn, he was as nervous as a raw recruit!

The elevator moved downwards. It stopped and the door opened into a cold, cavernous space. As he exited the elevator, his free hand flew to the side of the door. He made out a B and a 2 before they grabbed that hand too. "Sorry," he said, "old habit." They were in one of the parking garages.

He heard the chirp of the car alarm. A second later, the tip of his cane connected with the side of the car. He had a pretty good idea what would happen next. Any minute now...

A door opened and they pushed him in. Quickly, he folded his cane, taking care not to twist the tip, and wrapped the strap securely around his wrist. A moment later, they were on him. He jerked backwards, but there was too little room. He felt a sharp prick in his neck, followed by a brief burning sensation. And so, the wait is over, he thought, as the darkness grew darker and he sank into oblivion.

_To be continued..._


	13. The Best Laid Plans

_Thanks for all the reviews, messages, and alerts. They keep me motivated and cheer the muses. And we all like happy, cheerful muses, even when they want to do horrible things to our favorite heroes._

_That said, enjoy!_

**Chapter Twelve: The Best Laid Plans**

"Really, Arthur?"

Joan Campbell, her veneer of calm masking her inner turmoil, slowly paced the length of her husband's office. Arthur, familiar with each of his wife's moods, managed to read the subtle clues. He recognized the signs and prepared his apology, even as she paced back and forth before him like a jungle cat, all feline economy and not a movement wasted. God, what a woman!

"Did you think this would just go away?" she asked, closing in on him. "The last time the Hill showed any interest in our dealings, you barely survived. How far do you think they're going to go this time? This is Henry we're talking about."

Arthur threw up his hands in surrender. "Honestly? I was hoping they wouldn't call on you to testify. Henry has dirt on me. I was hoping he might not have anything on you. I didn't want you tarred with the same brush."

She stopped her pacing, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You misguided, chivalrous, dunderheaded, sweet man. I know what you're trying to do, and I love you for it. But Arthur, this is Henry we're talking about. You worked for him. I worked for him. He has dirt on you, on me, on everyone. He'd betray his own mother if he thought he could gain from it."

"Henry Wilcox never had a mother," Arthur said. "I swear he was spawned."

"Sshh." Joan put a finger to her husband's lips. "_As paredes tem ouvidos." _

"Maybe so," he replied, planting a kiss on her knuckles, "but at this hour even the walls aren't listening any more. Let's go home."

She shook her head at him in mild reproof, but followed him out of the executive suites.

They were waiting for the elevator, Arthur sneaking a kiss on his wife's shoulder, when Joan's phone chirped. Lousy timing.

"Ignore it," Arthur whispered, nuzzling her neck.

She was considering doing just that when it chirped a second time as they stepped into the elevator. She sighed and pulled the phone from her pocket, glanced at the screen and punched the second floor button. "I have to go, Arthur. Don't wait up."

"Planning on reading me in?" he asked as the doors slid open.

"Eventually. Good-night, Arthur."

* * *

><p>The damnably cheerful chirp of her phone yanked Annie away from the dreamworld beach she'd been lounging on, back to the familiar darkness of her room. She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head, vowing to inflict serious bodily harm on the idiot who texted her in the middle of the night. She knew how. Oh, yes. She was a highly-trained CIA operative and could deal out death in a dozen excruciating ways to anyone foolish enough to wake her after the kind of mission she'd just had.<p>

Behind closed eyelids, she saw once again the mess that was her latest op. Maybe, years from now, she and Auggie would look back on it over a few beers at Allen's and have a good laugh. In the meantime, however, it was anything but funny. In spite of doing everything by the book and following Barber's instructions to the letter, the "simple" exchange had gone wrong, with her asset's cover blown and her own in serious danger. After a rush-hour motorcycle chase through the streets of Prague, she spent several hours huddled in a safe house off of Wenceslas Square with a hysterical asset waiting for the extraction team.

After the special ops extraction followed by a visit to the U.S. Embassy's medical wing, she and her now-sedated asset had waited at the embassy for the station chief to sign off on her mission and arrange their transport to the States. By that time the only places immediately available had been in jump seats on a military transport to Patrick AFB with a plane load of Marines headed home on leave. Instead of being lulled to sleep by the hum of Rolls Royce engines at 30,000 feet, she'd endured nine hours of wolf whistles and military humor. Somewhere over the North Atlantic she'd lost track of the number of hours she'd been awake, and she was damn near comatose by the time she was debriefed, so much so that even Joan's death-stare had little effect.

With all that, she could have sworn that she'd hit the sack only three minutes before the phone chirped. She buried her face in her pillow and had decided to ignore the message. Then the damn thing chirped again.

She rolled over and groped on her bedside table. What time was it anyway? Barber would owe her a _venti_ with a double shot of espresso for this. And that was just for starters!

She saw the name on the screen, and jolted awake. Auggie A. "Stand by" the first message said. The second, "Game's afoot."

She texted back, "What's going on?" And waited for a reply. Nothing. Damn!

She raced to the closet, and pulled out an outfit without even looking. She could be wearing mismatched shoes for all she knew. She was dressed and out the door in less than five minutes, and in the Langley parking lot in twenty, all thoughts of espresso forgotten. Caffeine was a poor substitute for adrenaline.

* * *

><p>"What do we have? Joan asked, entering Tech Ops.<p>

Barber checked the screen. "Phase three has just gone active. Auggie texted everyone in the team fifteen and and...seventeen minutes ago."

"Where's the rest of the team?"

"Marty was on his way home. He just pulled a U-turn and is headed back this way. Annie's breaking some kind of record. Woo! Who knew that VW Golf had it in it?"

"Barber..."

"She's just pulled up to security. You want me to text Rossabi?"

Joan bit her lip. The ticking of the wall clock was distractingly loud while she pondered her next move. She hated bringing in another agency, but she knew the jurisdictional limitations the CIA was facing. "I'll text him myself," she said reluctantly. "Let's wait till the whole team is here."

* * *

><p>Annie raced down the long marble hallway, skidded 'round the corner startling a support staffer and nearly making him drop the banker's box he was carrying. "Sorry!" she called without looking back. She shoved through the double doors of the DPD, and made a beeline for Tech Ops. The team was huddled around Barber's computers.<p>

"You got the message, too?" She asked as Marty joined the group.

"Yeah. Any details yet?"

"No, nothing."

"Do we know where he is?"

"No."

"Is he ok?"

Stu shrugged. "We've got to assume he is, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to text us."

"Do we know what's going on?" Marty asked, logging on to one of the vacant computers.

"We were hoping you might be able to tell us," Joan said.

"Give me a minute... okay... we're getting a faint signal from the transmitter I planted in his i.d. Looks like they're headed towards Dulles."

"You want me to get someone on their tail?" Barber asked, his fingers already dialing the number.

Joan stilled his hand. "No. As much as we want to, we can't risk showing ourselves yet. If we spook these guys, we jeopardize Auggie's cover. Keep tracking him from here as long as you can. Do what you can to find out where they're taking him. We'll get eyes and ears on him as soon as we can."

"If we can," Annie said glumly.

Joan paused. "This is Auggie's op, Annie. He knows the risk, but this is the only way he can get inside and find out what's happening to those vets."

"Besides," Stu added, "this could be a false alarm." The team turned on him with eyes of ice. "Okay," he mumbled, "maybe not."

"We've got eyes!" Barber crowed. His computer showed a deserted patch of tarmac at Dulles, far from the terminal and maintenance hangars. The image shook as a sleek executive jet taxied into view.

"Do we know the plane?" Joan asked, looking up to make sure the large, wall-mounted monitors were dark.

Stu scanned the image, redirected the camera. "It's a Gulfstream G350 with a range of nearly four thousand miles. I can't find other any identifying features."

"Damn!" Joan muttered. "They can take him anywhere."

"They have to file a flight plan, right?" Annie asked.

Barber typed furiously. "Civilian flight plans are public. Agency flights and others... not so much."

"But they still have to file a flight plan?"

Stu smiled. "I can hack into the FAA data base."

Joan arched her brows, and Stu's grin stretched even wider. "You probably don't want to know about this side of the op, boss."

"Just figure out where they're taking Auggie."

"There he is," Annie cried. "They're dragging him up the steps. He's hurt!"

"Drugged probably. They wouldn't inflict damage yet... Not this early in the game. They'd want to probe a little deeper. Remember, based Danny Bolduc's video, at first they wanted him to believe that they were there to help him."

"And later?" Annie asked. She watched, aghast, as the plane's hatch door closed, obscuring Auggie from view.

"Let's hope Auggie gets to the bottom of this before there is a later.

Marty muttered a curse under his breath. "Signal's gone! The plane probably has a jamming device."

Joan jabbed a manicured fingernail at Barber's screen. "Whatever it takes, Eric, get a trace on that plane. We need to know where they're taking him. We need to have a team in place before the plane lands."

* * *

><p>"What is it?" Henry Wilcox checked the time as he pushed the covers aside. He planted a kiss on the bare shoulder next to him, and sat up. Ross had better have a damn good reason to call him at this hour.<p>

Ross took a breath. "Sir, I don't know if it's anything significant, but there was quite a stir in the DPD about twenty minutes ago. Joan Campbell was there, as was half of the tech ops team and the new girl, Mercer's ex-girlfriend. And some other guy I didn't recognize. They all rushed in around ten this evening. "

"What were they there for?" he asked.

"Hard to say. But it's obviously some kind of deep cover operation. You know how it is in that place. Doors open, the place buzzing with chatter. Giant screened monitors on every wall. This time, the doors were shut, they were speaking in whispers and the big screens were all turned off."

"Did they see you?"

"The new girl damn near ran me over, but I don't think she noticed me."

"Good. Keep it that way. Call me when you have something." Wilcox pressed the 'end' button. The Tech Ops team calling in the boss just minutes after Anderson was taken. That was too coincidental, and Henry Wilcox had never believed in coincidences. No, this all pointed to one thing: Anderson was was a plant. Why else would he have left the DPD, and the pity job he'd taken instead of doing the smart thing and retiring with a full pension and disability benefit? What else was he qualified to do? He might have been a spy once, and damn fine soldier. He was even fairly proficient with computers, even he was ready to admit that much. But now? Anderson was the punch line to a bad joke, and the Campbells were bigger jokes for not seeing him for the liability he was.

And Arthur was the biggest fool of all if he'd sent a blind man in to take him down. He had all the winning cards now. Anderson in a position where he would soon be neutralized. Both Campbells soon forced to lie under oath. The DNI in his pocket. His long exile would soon end.

Henry smiled, and he returned his attention to the young intern in his bed.

"You're in a good mood," she purred drowsily, and gasped as the older man's hands pinched a sensitive spot.

"It's about to get even better, darling."

* * *

><p>There was nothing in the cell. Not a blanket, no cot, not even a bucket tucked away in a corner. And although he couldn't be certain, there didn't seem to be a window either. Even floor was bare, cool tile beneath his bare feet.<p>

They'd jolted him awake him in the car with a second injection, just as the wheels crunched over a long gravel drive. He'd been dragged up two flights of stairs, shoved down corridors, and swung around corners, until, at last, they'd tossed him into this empty room.

There they'd stripped him, taken his shoes, socks, and uniform, and thrown a set of scrubs at him. His cane, his bag, his spare cane and all the gadgets he'd packed with such care had been taken away. That wasn't unexpected, but still he vowed to get those back.

Once he'd made sure he was alone, he'd snapped his fingers a couple of times to get a sense of the size of his cell. In spite of the bare walls and tile floor, there was hardly any echo, no depth to the sound as it traveled through space. In fact, now that his drug-addled wits were clearing, he realized that this place was ominously silent, except for the sound of his own uncertain steps and the heavy tread of his captors. No human sounds, and nothing mechanical. Since he'd entered the labyrinth of corridors, no stray sounds had filtered in from outside.

He rose more slowly than necessary, assuming he was being watched. It was best to appear more vulnerable than he truly was. He swayed slightly, and flung his arms out for balance. Taking slow, careful steps, he moved through the unknown space, until he reached a wall and followed it to the door. He'd half expected to touch cold metal, but he quickly realized it was of the same institutional laminate found in almost every public building. Not a place designed as a prison, then, he thought with some satisfaction. Trailing the back of one hand along the wall, and holding the other at an angle before his face in a protective stance, he started a careful circuit of the room. That took all of twenty-three steps and explained why there was no echo. A few more cautious paces took him back and forth across the confined space, giving him enough of a sense of the space to confirm his earlier suspicion that the room was completely empty.

With a clearer sense of his immediate surroundings, Auggie slid down to the floor, tilted his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes. Calmly, he began taking stock of his situation. He wasn't injured, that was good. The drugs they'd used to knock him out and rouse him again had left him feeling a little unsteady and slightly queasy, but the effects weren't so incapacitating as to distract him from his mission. Still, he thought, smiling grimly, his captors didn't need to know that. His hands were free. Add one more to the plus column. The room he was in was neither warm nor cold, so no risk of heatstroke or hypothermia. Moreover, it was small and devoid of any furnishings, which would play in his favor if it came down to a fight.

For now it was a matter of remaining calm and focused. Whatever they had in store for him, it would start slowly and build up in intensity. Above all else he had to maintain his cover of a damaged, tormented Captain Anderson. How much his captors already knew about him depended on who exactly was running this program. How much they learned, on the other hand, depended entirely on his own strength and resolve.

Now that the mission was truly underway, Auggie felt the familiar surge of excitement coursing through his system, but until his adversaries showed their hand, there was little he could do except wait. He replayed in his mind Danny's final messages. If his treatment was anything like Frenchie's, they would try a number of different tactics on him: sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation, mind control, drugs... The first thing they'd try, he was quite certain of this, would be to deprive him of sleep. A lifetime ago, during his SERE training, he had learned the hard way how sleep deprivation muddled the senses and impaired judgment.

His captors had shot him full of sleepy juice to get him here, but a drugged stupor had none of the restorative qualities of natural sleep. Auggie knew he would need all his strength and all his wits about him to seize and maintain control of this situation. And so with nothing better to do than wait, he stretched out on the floor and, cushioning his head on his hands, made himself as comfortable as possible, then he went to sleep.

* * *

><p>There were plenty of reasons why Specialist Isabel Rivera came to work an hour earlier than almost anyone else on her floor. She was a morning person, and most productive in the early hours when most were still scrubbing the grit from their eyes. The traffic in from the D.C. suburbs was lighter before the nine-to-five crowd hit the beltways, and there was no one in line ahead of her at the coffee shop. But the main reason she was usually at her desk by six, was that she could savor that first cup of coffee, quietly catch up on her e-mails, and get started on the day's work without being distracted by the presence of her new boss.<p>

He didn't do it on purpose. Hell! He probably wasn't even aware that he was doing it.

In most respects the transition from Captain Keating to Captain Anderson had been seamless. Captain Anderson was blind, however, and no matter how accomplished and adjusted he might appear to be, just having him around meant that she was always keeping one eye on him instead of paying complete attention to her work. It was the way she'd been brought up: you kept an eye on those who were less able to look out for themselves. You stood ready to help out. It was what had moved her to enlist in the Army in the first place.

Captain Anderson hadn't asked for her help since he'd settled in to his new assignment. He hadn't needed her to read anything for him, hadn't gotten lost or misplaced some vital file or piece of equipment. Still, the guy couldn't see so he was bound to need her help eventually.

In the meantime, however, while she'd been keeping one eye on Captain Anderson, she'd made two typos, mislabeled a file, and made a stupid budgeting miscalculation. Luckily she'd caught her errors before anyone else spotted them, but still, if Captain Anderson hadn't been there, she'd probably have had her mind fully on her work.

She took a long sip of coffee and stepped into the elevator. Not that it was any hardship watching him, she mused. The man was easy on the eyes. Very easy on the eyes. And that was just one more level of distraction.

As she stepped out of the elevator, Rivera was surprised to find that the door to the ODMEO suites was ajar and the lights were already on. Piano music drifted into the vestibule from Captain Anderson's office. He must have pulled another all-nighter, she thought, shaking her head. She softly cleared her throat - the captain didn't like to be startled - and tapped on the door frame. "Good morning, sir. " There was no reply. She pushed open the door and flipped on the light. The office was empty. He'd been here, and stepped out already. Damn! She'd have to start coming in even earlier.

* * *

><p>"How's our newest patient?"<p>

The research assistant looked up from the close-circuit tv monitors she'd been watching to the tall gray-haired man who'd just entered. She didn't recognize him, and her eyes darted to his badge. Dr. Richard Allen. It seemed legit. She had to assume it was, since the doctors rotated in and out of this facility faster than any place she'd ever worked.

"He appears to be sleeping, Dr. Allen."

"Any activity?"

"They brought him in and made him change into those scrubs. He took a few minutes to explore the room. Doctor?" she hesitated, "He... uh... he appears to be blind, sir."

Doctor Allen tapped some notes on a tablet. "He is," he replied without looking up. "Is that all?"

"Oh, okay. When he was done exploring, he stretched out and went to sleep. That was about an hour ago. Nothing noteworthy since. What's his story?"

"The usual. Traumatized vet. Lost his sight in Iraq five years ago. The details are sketchy, but according to his file, he seemed to be fairly well-adjusted, flew through his rehab, got a civilian job, and was getting on with his life. Never accepted a medical discharge though, and he stayed in the Army on reserve status. Two months ago he requested to go back into active duty."

"But he's blind!"

"They humored him by placing him in an administrative position at the Pentagon, where he wouldn't interfere with anything important."

"Why didn't they just refuse to take him back?"

"Apparently, he's some kind of hero. Their way of saying 'thanks' I guess. Except that being at the Pentagon seems to have dredged up some suppressed memories. His PTSD came back with a vengeance."

"Will he have the usual course of treatment, doctor?"

"That's why he's been brought here. That's why they're all here."

* * *

><p>"Anderson, my office!"<p>

Specialist Rivera peered out from behind the computer screen. "He's not here, sir."

Major Duncan's scowl grew deeper. "What do you mean, he's not here?"

"I haven't seen him all morning, sir. He's probably out at one of the work sites."

"Well, he's not where he's supposed to be. I just got off the phone with the foreman from the third floor dining hall refit. Anderson was supposed to meet with them over an hour ago. They're still waiting. Call his cell, and tell him to get his ass over there."

Rivera cast the major a disapproving look.

"Or words to that effect."

* * *

><p>Auggie was awake as soon as the tumbler turned in the lock. Long years of training kept him from showing it, however, and he disguised the involuntary hitch in his breathing by shifting his position slightly.<p>

The door opened quietly, then shut again with a soft click. Steps drew closer and paused a foot or so away from his face. "Mr. Anderson?"

Auggie groaned and rolled over. He opened his eyes, blinked several times then shut his eyes hard against the nothingness.

"Mr. Anderson, I'm Doctor Allen."

Auggie sat up slowly, and leaned back against the wall. "Captain."

"I beg your pardon."

"It's not_ Mister_ Anderson, it's Captain Anderson."

"Does it matter?"

"It's my rank. I worked hard for it. Fought for it even harder. Gave up a lot to keep it, _Mister_ Allen," he said, fixing the psychiatrist with a disconcertingly direct gaze.

"Very well, " the doctor said with a mild chuckle. "Captain Anderson it is."

"Where am I?"

"At a psychiatric treatment facility. We're going to help you deal with your trauma."

"Where?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Auggie shrugged. "I like to know where I am." He scuffed his feet across the bare floor. "Tell me, Doc, are all your accommodations this luxurious? The mattresses are a little hard, and the room service...Well, I've had better. Just sayin'"

"Snark, Captain Anderson?"

"My go-to diversion from the unpleasant. It's in my file."

"A room is being prepared for you. We need to assess your condition first."

"How's this for an assessment? 'Patient presents as pissed, tired, and thirsty.' Why the hell am I here?"

"You were deemed an imminent danger."

Auggie rolled his eyes. "Only behind the wheel. What's this really about?"

"What it's really about, _Captain_ Anderson, is getting you well, and if that isn't possible, then it's about making certain you do not pose a danger to yourself or to anyone else."

Auggie stood up, dusted off his hands, and straightened to his full height. "Well, I guess we'd better get on with it, then. Let's go."

"What?" Dr. Allen seemed taken aback. Good. "No, we'll conduct the initial assessment here, while we wait for your room to be prepared."

"I don't think so," Auggie replied. While he'd been sitting on the floor, he'd been hard pressed to gauge the doctor's size. Now that he was standing, however, he could tell by the height of the man's voice that the doctor was several inches shorter than his own six feet. Auggie favored the man with a grim smile. "Like I said, I'm thirsty. I also need to relieve myself. I'd also like to get my cane and my other things back. But for now, I'll settle for a drink of water and a pee. There's no water here, and no toilet." He stepped towards the doctor's voice, and found Dr. Allen's shoulder. He latched onto the shorter man's elbow with an iron grip and dragged him towards the door. "Lead on," he said.

* * *

><p>Specialist Rivera knocked quietly on Major Duncan's door. "Sir?"<p>

"What is it? Did you locate Anderson?"

"That's just it, sir. He's not answering either of his phones, sir. I asked the baristas and they said he hasn't been in this morning. This isn't like him, sir."

Duncan had to agree. In spite of his initial misgivings, Anderson had proven himself fully capable and reliable. "Do we have his emergency contact?"

"Sir, his closest relatives are in Illinois. Besides, it may not be anything. I wouldn't want to worry his family."

Duncan closed the file he'd been reading and headed over to Auggie's office. "Anything unusual in here? Anything out of place? Did he leave a note?"

"The lights were on. He usually asks me to turn them off when I leave. I turned them off when I left yesterday." Rivera continued to look around. The computer was on, but the monitor, as usual was turned off. Captain Anderson's phone was plugged into his computer's speakers, with the Pandora station sending Latin jazz through the air. The Braille slate and stylus he'd used yesterday to write down Dr. Bertrand's number was where he had left it. The note card was still by the phone, where, presumably he had left it when he was done."

"What was he working on?" Duncan asked.

Rivera shrugged. "He has a couple things going. The dining hall retrofit, but he was also arranging a few temporary assignments for injured troops, including that kid from Quantico with the messed up knee.

Duncan jiggled the mouse and Auggie's Braille display sprang to life. He turned on the monitor. Three words appeared on the screen. "Call Dr. Bertrand."

* * *

><p>Annie closed the tech ops door, and set a hot cup of coffee on Stu's desk. Behind the closed glass doors, Joan and Barber huddled in front of the screens, their faces serious.<p>

"Bribing me with coffee won't make this happen any faster, but thanks."

"Don't think of it as bribery. You've been here, twenty-six...twenty-seven hours straight? Think of it as sustenance. Anything yet?"

"Working on it..." the junior techie replied absently. The encryption was tricky, with multiple safeguards and layers of protection."

"Just give me a sign, if you can, when you get something... please?"

Stu regarded Annie with concern. She was getting too close, losing her objectivity. "Annie, we all care about Auggie..."

The door slid open. "Annie, I'm sure you have work to do."

"Yes, ma'am." She cast Stu a pleading look.

"I'll let you know."

At that moment, a tinny version of the Army Anthem sounded from her pocket. Auggie's Pentagon line.

"Is that a civilian phone, Annie?" Joan asked. "You know I could fire you for that."

"It's my NOC phone, Joan. Dr. Bertrand's number. It's Auggie." She fumbled for the phone. "Laurie-Anne Bertrand."

"Dr. Bertrand? This is Army Specialist Isabella Rivera. I work with Captain Anderson at the Pentagon."

Annie gestured for silence as she switched the call over to the speaker. "Specialist Rivera. Yes, I remember you. How may I help you?"

There was hesitation on the line. "I'm not sure, actually," Rivera replied. "Captain Anderson didn't show up this morning. It's not like him."

"Have you called his home number? I'm sure he's fine. Captain Anderson is very capable."

"I know he is, and I have," Rivera replied. "I think something might have happened to him."

"If that's so, then I'm not the one you should be calling. Have you notified the proper authorities?"

"Dr. Bertrand," Rivera insisted, "Captain Anderson left a message on his computer. I don't know where he is or what happened, but he left us a message to call you. I think you should come here."

Annie cast a glance at Joan who nodded. "I'll be right over," she said.

* * *

><p>Dr. Allen stopped cold and refused to follow. "You are not authorized to leave this room, Captain Anderson." He pried Auggie's fingers from his arm. "We've allowed you to keep your hands free out of consideration for your circumstances. Do not make us regret that decision."<p>

Holding out one hand slightly, Auggie took another step towards the door.

"The door is locked from the outside," Allen added. "It will only be unlocked at my signal. I suggest you make yourself comfortable while we proceed with your initial assessment."

"Am I your prisoner?"

"You're a patient here. Our only concern is your well-being. People who care about you cared enough to express concern for your safety. As soon as we are able to ascertain that you pose no imminent threat to yourself or others, you will be discharged."

Auggie slid down against the wall. "Nice speech. I'm sure you know that there are laws against involuntary confinement."

"You are entitled to legal representation if you feel you're being held against your will. Your lawyer will have to prove, however, that you aren't a danger."

"Proving a negative? I thought the burden of proof was yours. Besides, how am I supposed to contact my lawyer? You have my phone. You won't tell me where I'm being held."

"Captain Anderson...August... why are you being so resistant? People who care about you, people who care about your safety were sufficiently worried about your erratic behavior to contact this facility to arrange your treatment."

"Which people exactly? None of my friends, none of my co-workers, and certainly no one in my family would approve of your methods. No one I know would sanction your seizing me at work, drugging me, and dragging me to this place... wherever this is."

"We were warned that you might be uncooperative, that you were mistrustful, perhaps even paranoid. Let us help you, August. Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Auggie raked his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and for a long time said nothing. Finally, in resignation, he looked up towards Dr. Allen. "Alright," he said, "you win. What do I have to do to get out of this place?"

_**To be continued...**_


	14. Some Kind of Hero

_Thanks for your continued support. Your reviews and alerts make my day, cheer the muses, and shut up that pesky inner censor that mutters at me when I'm trying to write. _

_I'm not terribly pleased with this chapter. I've been trying to beat it into shape for the last week, and I'm still not getting anywhere. But in the spirit of keeping things moving, here it is, warts and all. I may come back and fix it later on._

_Warning: the language in this chapter is a little salty. _

_Enjoy and let me know what you think._

_M&M_

**Chapter Thirteen: Some Kind of Hero**

"Okay. Let me know when you get there." Eric Barber ended the call. With any luck, the exchange would take place on time and proceed without incident. If it did, it would give him a couple of hours to focus on the other operations he was handling, including doing whatever he could to support Auggie's op. Releasing a breath, he minimized the screen and scanned his desk for something to eat. He eyed a half-consumed doughnut with uncharacteristic revulsion and instead, popped a couple of antacids into his mouth. As far as Barber was concerned, Auggie couldn't get back to the DPD soon enough.

He cast a quick glance around the department. Business as usual with the customary hum and chatter of handlers, analysts and techies. "Hey, Stu," he called out, "you check for hitchhikers lately?"

"Uh uh..."

Barber swiveled his chair around. The younger man's focus was entirely on his computer and the strings of code scrolling across the screen. Eyes bright, fingers flying over the keys, lips curled in a tense half-smile, Stu's demeanor said it all. The kid was on the verge of an epic win.

"I'm in!" he cried a moment later.

"You did it?" Barber said, disbelieving. The kid was good. "You hacked the FAA database?"

Stu sat grinning like a twelve-year old.

"Well, don't just sit there. Get us those flight plans and go show them to Joan."

"Me?" Stu asked. "Aren't you coming?"

"It's your win, Stu. Besides, someone has to protect the free world while you're up there basking in the glory."

"You know, Boss, you almost sound jealous."

"Yep, almost. Oh, and don't forget to check for hitchhikers."

* * *

><p>Specialist Rivera rushed out from behind her desk. "Dr. Bertrand, thank-you so much for coming."<p>

Several men milled about the vestibule, scribbling notes, taking photographs, and speaking quietly among themselves. So, Annie mused, Joan had read in the Bureau. She looked around for Special Agent Rossabi.

Rivera continued apologetically. "I realize that this isn't your area of expertise, but... well.. Captain Anderson's file makes no mention of family, and you were the only other person I could think of."

"No, it's okay. Though I'm not sure how much help I can give. Especially if you've called in the Bureau."

"I'm not the one who called them in."

"Your CO then?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Major Duncan was called up to his Colonel's office an hour ago. These guys just showed up. Said they'd been alerted to Captain Anderson's disappearance and were investigating it as an abduction."

"So why call me in? Do we even know that he's been abducted?"

"It's just that you seem to know Captain Anderson better than any of us do. Maybe you can help them?"

Annie cast her a doubtful look, but followed her into the vestibule just the same.

The Army specialist cleared her throat. "Special Agent Rossabi?"

The dark-haired agent turned around. Annie fought a smile as recognition slowly lit up the agent's eyes. The rest of his face, however, remained neutral.

"Special Agent Rossabi, this is Dr. Bertrand. She has worked closely with Captain Anderson and may be able to assist you."

"Dr. Bertrand, right. You look vaguely familiar. Have we met before?"

"I doubt it. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Captain Anderson's office?"

Annie followed Rossabi into Auggie's office, and smiled. Auggie's Pentagon office was very nearly a mirror image of his space at the DPD, right down to the teakwood sculpture and the Grado headphones. In fact, she almost expected to see his laser cane resting alongside his keyboard. Instead, in its place, she spotted his cell phone.

In all the time she'd known Auggie, she'd never seen him outside of Langley without it. It was as much a part of him as his cane. Tricked out with dozens of navigation and accessibility apps, it was the one piece of technology he never left home without. Auggie had even persuaded Joan to let him set up his secure Agency phone in a similar manner. So why did he leave it behind?

"A new 'do?" Rossabi smirked, looking her over. "Glasses, flats? You're always full of surprises...Dr. Bertrand."

Annie's eyes flashed in annoyance.

"Don't worry," he said, his face suddenly serious. "Your secrets are safe."

"You're assuming I have secrets."

He snorted. "Right, so the short hair and flats, that must all be part the VA's dress code."

Annie decided to ignore the agent's taunting. "How is it that your team's already here?"

"The case is under FBI jurisdiction," Rossabi reminded her, as he made a slow circuit of the office. As soon as his back was turned, Annie snatched the phone.

Rossabi paused by a bookcase and ran a curious fingertip over the spine of a Braille manual. "Your boss, it seems, has finally remembered that we're in charge, and that this op is a joint effort. She read me in about an hour ago. What have you heard?"

Annie showed him the two text messages she'd received.

"That's it?"

"That's it. He probably didn't have time to send anything else."

"Where's his CO?"

"Upstairs talking with _his_ CO. Your doing?"

Rossabi threw his hands up. "Don't look at me. I don't have that kind of pull."

"Okay. So let's figure this out." Annie said. "What do you know?"

* * *

><p>Up a flight of eight stairs, a landing, then eight more and a shove through a set of double doors. From the doors it was three steps forward followed a sharp turn to the right, then down a long hallway and a turn to the left. "Hold on," he called to the nameless goon pulling on his arm. He needed to catch his breath.<p>

Somewhere in the distance Auggie heard a quiet murmur of voices. An elevator chimed and an image formed in his mind. So, there were others here. Good to know. The silence of the preceding hours had him thinking he might be alone in this place with only his captors for company.

He rubbed a hand across his brow. He had to figure this place out, form a mental map of the place, but his head was spinning and he couldn't concentrate. The drugs they'd used to knock him out were still messing with his perception. He leaned against the wall for a moment, and tried to get his bearings.

"Let's go, Anderson. Get moving." His escort was a big guy with a solid grip and a voice that came from several inches above Auggie's face. Auggie straightened and pushed away from the wall. He pried the man's fingers from his arm. "Walk ahead and I'll follow." He knew he'd be safer taking the man's lead, but his refusal to use the proper stance stiffened Auggie's resolve to move as independently as possible. He fell in step behind him, trailing the wall and following the sound of the man's footsteps, hoping all the while that he wouldn't trip or run headlong into something. Though maybe if he did, it would help establish his cover with these guys.

Auggie's knuckles trailed the wall. One door... two doors... three... as they made their way down the hall. His guide came to an abrupt stop at the end, causing Auggie to stumble into him. A hand fell briefly on his shoulder, then the sound of heavy footsteps disappeared down the hall, in the opposite direction from which they had come.

A familiar voice called from inside the room. "Have a seat."

Auggie stood immobile in the doorway, waiting.

"There's a chair in front of you. Sit."

With no further clues, Auggie took a few careful steps forward as the door shut behind him. He reached for the chair. Nothing. He kept going. "This would be a lot simpler, Dr. Allen, if you simply gave me back my cane." He felt his leg bump against cold metal, swept a hand across the seat, and sat.

"We don't want you using it to injure yourself."

Auggie shot him a look of disbelief. "The whole point of the cane is to keep me from getting injured."

"We also need to make sure you won't use it as a weapon. You'll get your cane and your other belongings back in due time. Until then we can provide any assistance you may require."

Auggie didn't bother masking his annoyance. "Let's get this over with."

A rustle of papers, and the sound of something more solid being set on the table. "I appreciate your cooperation, Captain Anderson."

"Like I was given a choice?"

More papers were shuffled about. "Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?"

"I'm thirsty." Dr. Allen slid a bottle across the table. Auggie followed the sound, and found the bottle on his first try. Hurray for small victories. He broke the seal and took a long drink.

Being well versed in interrogation techniques, Auggie had a pretty good idea what was coming. He'd experienced this before from both sides of the table. First put the subject at ease. Gain his confidence and alleviate any sense of apprehension. Then start with the softball questions. Once confidence is established, get the subject to drop his guard. In this initial session, if he remembered the playbook correctly, his interrogator would ask general questions, try to determine his psychological profile and decide which approach was likely to yield the desired results. These things could go both ways, and Auggie was determined to get as much if not more out of his interrogator, as he would reveal about himself.

Dr. Allen was seated across the table. Someone else was in here with them, too. Protocol dictated that the interrogator was never left alone with an unrestrained subject. He cast about the room for some clue as to the other person's location and was rewarded with the sound of quiet breathing and the faint scent of institutional laundry detergent at his five o'clock. He greeted his new minder with a nod and a wave.

He leaned back into his chair and waited. The first softball question should come along in three...two...one...

"So, according to your file, Captain Anderson, you were raised in Glencoe, Illinois?

"That's right."

"Nice place to grow up?"

"According to the real estate ads."

"Tell me about your childhood."

Auggie took another drink. He capped the bottle and wiped his lips, taking his time before answering. "Typical middle class childhood. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"High school State wrestling champion in your weight class two years running. Impressive."

"In the lesser scheme of things." Auggie replied.

"What about your family?"

"My father's a doctor. My mother's a college professor. I have four older brothers. Why the hell am I here?"

Dr. Allen cleared his throat, but ignored the question. More pages turned. "You went to MIT. Studied computer systems and network security, correct?"

"Yes."

"You were in the ROTC. Joined the Army after grad school. That's unusual for a computer geek, isn't it?"

"If you say so."

"And you served in...?"

"A lot of different places. Why am I here?" Still no answer. In the silence that followed, Auggie heard the telltale sound of fingers tapping on ... not a keyboard...a tablet? Good. A tablet could be hacked if he could get a message to Langley.

The tapping stopped. Dr. Allen paused for a moment before continuing. "You were blinded while serving in Iraq."

"Yes."

"Under what circumstances?"

"Fighting bad guys."

"What was the nature of your injury?"

"I'm sure it's in there somewhere," Auggie said gesturing vaguely towards the stack of papers."

"It is, but I'd like to verify your understanding of your injuries."

Auggie's patience was wearing thin. "There was an explosion. Lights out. End of story."

"Says here you suffered a traumatic brain injury."

"Yeah, funny how IEDs tend to do that. Are you going to tell me why am I here?"

Dr. Allen breathed a sigh of frustration. "Why did you refuse the Army's offer of an honorable medical discharge? Seems to me, if I were you, I wouldn't want to have anything to do with the Army ever again."

"With all due respect," Auggie replied, smiling coldly, "you aren't me."

"So why did you stay?"

"All my life, as far back as I can remember, all I ever wanted to do was to serve my country. Luckily for me there were people higher up the chain of command who believed in me, respected what I'd done over there. Apparently, I'm some kind of hero, and because of that they found a way to let me stay in the Army as a reservist."

Dr. Allen cleared his throat again. "Some might say you wanted to stay in so that you'd be in a better position to get back at the Army for what happened to you."

"And some might say that's a load of bull." Auggie leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Look, I don't blame the Army for what happened that day. I was one of the lucky ones. A lot of good men came home in boxes."

More tapping. "You were with Special Ops in Iraq when your accident happened?"

"It wasn't an accident," Auggie answered, settling back in his chair, and closing his eyes. "It was a deliberate and premeditated assault on my unit."

"You were Special Ops in Iraq, correct?"

"Why do you want to know? If you're with the VA, you have access to my record. Or maybe you're not with the VA..."

"Captain Anderson, your suspicion is unwarranted."

"Is it? Your thugs abduct me from my workplace. They drug me and drag me off to ...God knows where. You take my belongings, even my most basic necessities. You took away a blind man's cane, for crissake! And on top of it all, you refuse to tell me why I'm here and not in a regular treatment facility. And don't insult my intelligence by telling me this is a typical VA psychiatric facility."

No reply, only more tapping. After a long pause, Dr. Allen continued. "Tell me about your time in Iraq."

* * *

><p>Stu hesitated by the director's door. Joan Campbell did not look up from the file she was reading. "Stuart, either come in or go back to your office, but stop hovering at my door."<p>

"I have something I think you'll want to see," he said from the doorway.

"Come in Stu. I won't bite."

"Right. Of course." He entered and handed her a file, then waited nervously as she scanned the contents.

"Good work, Stu," she smiled. "So, one plane went to Minnesota, and the other to Nevada. Do we know which one Auggie was on?"

"The flight to Minneapolis-St. Paul arrived on time. The flight to Reno, on the other hand, was nearly an hour behind schedule."

Joan studied the flight plan for additional information. "How do you know that?"

Stu handed Joan a second file. "I checked the average travel times for both itineraries for that type of aircraft. Making allowances for wind and weather, the Minneapolis flight was well within normal parameters. The Reno flight was still nearly an hour late"

"Which means..."

"That plane landed and took off again somewhere between here and Reno. We find out where it landed..."

"...and we find Auggie."

* * *

><p>How long the initial session lasted, Auggie couldn't clearly tell. Back and forth it went, easy questions punctuated with the type of question Auggie knew was meant to trip him up, to get him to reveal mission details. He was tired, tired beyond words, and the pressure building behind his eyeballs threatened at any moment to explode into a full-blown migraine.<p>

And then suddenly, without warning, the session ended. Without saying a word, Dr. Allen exited the room. The stranger who'd stood silently in the corner the entire time led him through a different part of the building. They stopped and his minder drew a set of keys from his pocket.

"My new accommodations?" Auggie asked as he was guided through the door. The door slammed shut behind him. "Okay, I guess they didn't hire him for his conversational skills."

Auggie listened to the key turn. Instinctively, he tried the handle. It didn't budge. He was tired, hungry. His head throbbed and he leaned his forehead against the cool of the wall fighting the pain, darkness, and frustration. He turned around and listened intently. He was fairly certain that he was alone, but something about the room hinted that it had been only recently vacated. Was it the lingering scent of stale food? The smell of sweat? Of fear? He called out into the silence. "Hello?" There was no reply.

He pushed himself away from the door, and with one hand on the wall, worked his way around the perimeter of the room. He found a table bolted to the floor and a few steps further, a bed. For now, that was all that mattered. He would have slept on the bare ground without complaint. The simple metal frame, and thin bedding were five-star luxuries. He stretched out.

First trial passed, he thought with grim satisfaction. The next challenge would be more difficult. As sleep tugged at his consciousness, he tried to predict what might yet come. Sleep deprivation? Definitely. Isolation? That was already under way. Sensory deprivation? He'd be saving them some time with that one. And after that? Drifting off to sleep, he hoped he'd get to the bottom of this operation before they got that far.

* * *

><p>Annie strode into the DPD, clutching Auggie's phone. She swung into Tech Ops, came to a sudden stop and looked around. Patrick, a junior handler, was on the phone, and he was the only one there.<p>

"Where is everybody?" she mouthed.

Patrick pointed towards Joan's office. The blinds were drawn.

She raced up the ramp and knocked on the door. "I hate to interrupt," she said.

With a gesture, Joan indicated that Annie should join the conversation.

Annie shut the door and crossed the room. "Auggie's phone," she said, holding it out as she approached the desk. "It's all I could get. Rossabi and his team were already there."

"I called him. Does he know about this?" Joan asked, holding up the phone.

"I don't think so. Should I have given it to him instead?"

Joan smiled and set the phone on her desk. "I'll have Marty check it out ... before we send it over to Hoover." She turned to the two men on the couch. "Stu, show Annie your data."

Annie quickly scanned the single page. "So all we have to do is check every airfield between here and Reno?"

Stu smiled. "I can narrow it down for you. We have the air traffic control data all the way to Wichita. The plane went off line ten minutes later. They came back online when they entered Cedar City, Utah's air space."

"How did they explain their silence?" she asked.

Joan responded. "They haven't yet. The Bureau has taken the crew into custody. We'll know more after they've been questioned."

Annie considered Stu's information. "These are only the flight plans. What about radar data?"

"Working on it." Barber said, "but it might not give us much. They could have flown below the radar."

"Through the Rockies?" Annie said.

"Never said they weren't ballsy," Barber replied.

Joan cut in. "Annie, I need you and Stu to work together on this. Compile a listing of all the general aviation airports between Wichita and Cedar City. Find out where that plane could have landed. Find out everything you can."

"Everything?"

"Everything. Wherever Auggie is, we can assume there are others, too."

* * *

><p>"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY BED!"<p>

Auggie jolted upright. Barely awake, he was swinging his legs over the side of the bed when two large hands fastened on his shoulders like a vise and hurled him across the room. He raised his hands to his face a fraction of a second before crashing into the wall. Recovering quickly, he spun around and crouched in a wrestler's stance, waiting for the stranger to make a move that would reveal his position.

His attacker came charging at him from his two o'clock, bellowing like an enraged beast. Auggie shifted his position slightly. Whether Auggie heard him swing, or whether it was luck or skill or some other strange prescience, he blocked the blow with his left hand and swung hard with his right. His fist connected with the man's jaw. The stranger staggered back but kept his feet. He struck back, and brought his right fist crashing into Auggie's midsection. Auggie grunted and twisted away slightly, just enough to deflect some of the force of the blow. Turning his attacker's own momentum against him, he hooked an arm around the man's neck and sent him crashing to the ground. In an instant he had him in a headlock.

He didn't want to hurt or incapacitate the guy. As far as he could tell, they were both in the same boat here. He needed to subdue him, though, and figure out what was going on.

The stranger grunted and cursed and struggled to free himself, but Auggie only tightened his hold. "The harder you fight," he said through gritted teeth, "the tighter I'll squeeze. Your choice, dude."

The man's squirming suddenly stopped. "Jesus, Auggie?" he croaked. "Auggie Anderson?"

Auggie furrowed his brow. He recognized the voice. He'd place it in a second.

"Auggie, let go, man! It's me, Tommy... C'mon, Auggie. I can't breathe."

"Tommy?" Auggie shifted his weight and eased his hold very slightly. "Tommy Marcus?"

"Yeah, man. Get off me, dude."

"Middle name?"

"Ah c'mon, Auggie." Tommy whined.

Auggie grinned. "Middle name, Lieutenant!"

He mumbled something inaudible even to Auggie's sensitive ears. "Louder!"

"Marion"! And it's 'Captain Thomas Marion Marcus' now, dammit!"

Auggie grinned and released his former teammate. "Dude, your parents must have really hated you to give you such a girly middle name."

Tommy groaned, rubbed his neck, and sat up. "I think you've mentioned it once or twice. It's my mother's -"

"Her maiden name. I know. Damn it, dude, what are you doing here? Last I heard, you were in Libya. How'd you end up in this place?

"Libya? Where did you ever get that crazy idea?" He rubbed at his jaw. "Geez, Bro, you still got a mean right uppercut."

"Curtis and Josh, when we got together for..." Auggie suddenly fell silent. "Tommy, how long have you been here?"

Tommy scrubbed at his face. "Not sure. They grabbed me back in July. Drugged me. When I woke up I was locked up in this place. I tried to keep track of the time but they keep moving me to a different room every few days. They kept me from sleeping. They did pretty much everything they could to try to mess with my head. Tried just about every trick we learned about in SERE training."

"You okay?"

"I'm hanging in there. So, what's the date?"

"I think it's around November 15th give or take a day," Auggie guessed.

He took a moment to process the information. "Wow, nearly Thanksgiving. Time flies. So you saw the guys? Did I miss some kind of reunion?"

Auggie knew he had to tell Tommy about their friend Danny. "Tommy, there's something you need to know ..."

* * *

><p>Joan strode into Tech Ops. "Sit rep."<p>

Annie looked up from Stu's computer. "We've got the list. We drew a circle and Stu compiled a list of every airport in that one-hour radius. Then we eliminated airstrips that couldn't accommodate a Gulfstream. That still leaves us with an awful lot of ground to cover, Joan."

"That's why this is Plan B. We have to hope that Auggie has his equipment, and will be able to get a message to us."

"And until he does?"

"I'm pulling satellite imagery for those airports," Barber responded. "It's a long shot, but maybe one of our birds snapped that plane while it was on the ground. Once we know where he is, I can get an extraction team in place."

Joan held up a hand. "Slow down, Eric. Remember, Auggie's on a mission. Unless we have cause to believe he's in danger, we need to give him time to work his op."

"But he's -"

"Don't say it. Auggie is well aware of his limitations. We all are. And he knows the risk. He won't do anything foolish. Keep in mind, he's in a privileged position. They'll underestimate him, won't realize who he is or what he's capable of. Let's face it, he's not the typical spy."

"But..."

"No 'buts', Eric. Auggie is tracking down a domestic intelligence failure. Whoever is behind this is exposing our operatives and returning troops to mortal danger. It's an important mission and one that Auggie is eminently qualified for. I want you to handle this the way you would handle any other mission. If you can't dissociate yourself from your personal friendship for Auggie, I'll turn it over to Rossabi's team. "

Barber looked contrite. "No, I can do it."

"Then do it. Have an extraction team ready, but they don't move until we hear from Auggie, or until I say so. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

><p>Tommy sounded confused. "What do you mean? What's going on? What happened?"<p>

Auggie sighed and scratched the stubble on his face, playing for time, trying to find a gentler way to break the sad news he had to share.

The cold rising from the bare tile floor seeped into his bones. "Look, is there somewhere else to sit in here? This is a nice floor and all, but..."

Tommy pushed himself to his feet. "Not much in the way of furnishings. No chairs, but you can sit on the bed," he said reaching down a hand. There was a moment of awkward silence. "I'm holding my hand out in front of your face, Bro. Grab it."

Auggie winced as Tommy pulled him up. "Damn, you still know how to throw a punch."

"That's what you get for being a desk jockey and a goddamn weekend warrior. The bed's about six feet in front of you."

Auggie stopped when he felt his leg bump against the mattress. Sitting, he explained, "Weekend warrior is better than not being a warrior at all. Besides I'm back in now."

"Yeah, right!"

"I'm serious. It's a desk job at the Pentagon, but it's active duty, and I keep my full rank."

Tommy snorted. "Sure beats the hell out of chasing insurgents across the desert."

"Hey, if you want to trade places..."

"You'd do a better job than some of the kids they send us, that's for sure." Auggie felt the mattress depress as Tommy sat next to him. "Okay, Auggie, enough with the chit chat. What's going on? What the hell happened that you don't want to tell me about?"

Auggie sighed and leaned forward, setting his forearms on his knees. "Danny's dead. He drove his truck off a mountainside."

"When?"

Auggie told him what he'd learned from the police and the papers. He kept from mentioning what he'd learned since then. Best keep those things to himself for now. "Anyway, it was when I met up with Curtis, Josh and Graham at the funeral that they told me you were in Libya."

"Libya, hell, I wish! They grabbed me just when I was heading up to Lake Sandpoint to enjoy some well-deserved R&R after having spent six months winning hearts and minds in the mountains of eastern Fuckistan!"

Auggie gave a grunt of laughter. "How'd that work out?"

"Dude, you don't want to know. So, how'd you go from riding a desk to enjoying this fine Rocky Mountain hospitality?"

"Is that where we are? The Rockies?" Now the fatigue and headache made sense. It was the altitude.

"The scenery seems to fit, but it's just a guess. They don't let us out much. So, what brought you here"

"I was at work and had an episode," he said, investing the word with all the contempt he could muster. "My CO insisted I get help. I guess the help wasn't helping fast enough, because the next thing you know, a couple of goons grab me, shoot me full of sleepy juice and I wake up here. They took my clothes, my cane. I don't know what kind of treatment facility this is, but I'm willing to bet it's not the kind they talk about at the APA."

"They've been trying to get me to talk about things I did over there."

"Yeah, me too." Auggie rubbed his eyes. "You tell 'em anything?"

"What? Jesus, no, Auggie! I didn't tell 'em anything I wasn't supposed to tell. But it's hard you know? I'm just so tired, and they can be pretty persuasive."

"What did they do to you?"

"All sorts of shit. Isolation's a big one. You're the first guy I've seen in weeks. Sleep deprivation's another of their favorites. Sensory deprivation, too. They shut you up in this sort of tank."

"Drugs?"

"Yeah, that too. I can't figure out what their game is. These guys are supposed to be helping us deal with the trauma we've been through? I'll take the PTSD, thanks. The one thing they don't seem to be trying is actual thera-"

Auggie held up a hand, silencing his friend. "You hear that?" he whispered.

Tommy shook his head. "I don't hear anything."

"Someone's coming. More than one."

A moment later a key turned in the lock, and the door flew open. "Marcus! On your feet. Time to change rooms."

"Wait. No. This is my room," he cried as they dragged him out. "C'mon, guys. Anderson just got here. He's the one who should be somewhere else, not me! This is a mistake. Auggie, tell 'em. Auggie!" His bare feet slid against the floor.

"Hang in there, Tommy. Stay strong. I'll get you out." But the words rang hollow and Auggie wondered how he'd ever pull that off.

_To be continued_


	15. Patient Sixty

_Thank-you all SO much for your encouraging comments. They got me through the patch of self-doubt I found myself trudging through. Thanks to all my new followers, too. Each comment, review, alert, and private message means so very much to me._

_I promised the next chapter would be up before the Season 3 Premiere, and here it is, with twenty minutes to spare. _

_ As always, let me know what you think. Enjoy the chapter and the new season of Covert Affairs. _

_M&M_

**Chapter 14. Patient Sixty**

Auggie sat on the side of his bunk, unshaven, unwashed, and thoroughly disoriented. They'd brought him to this new, unfamiliar room, right after his latest sparring session with Dr. Allen. This was the fifth time in they'd moved him, and while he was beginning to get a sense of the size of this installation, his sense of orientation was seriously messed up. With a good night's sleep, he might have been able to make sense of his surroundings, but they rarely allowed him more than a few minutes of sleep at any one time. His head was pounding. His thoughts were muddled. His body clock was haywire.

He'd worked his way around the various rooms they'd held him in, seeking the tell-tale touch of sunlight or a hint of lingering warmth. He'd found none. This room seemed no different. With no way of telling whether it was day or night, no way of measuring the passage of time, and no constant save his sparring sessions with Dr. Allen, he was just about ready to give up on trying to keep track of the days. Not even the insipid institutional meals they served him had any distinguishing qualities to identify them as breakfast, lunch or dinner, and give order to the passage of time.

In frustration he pounded his fist into the mattress. If only he could figure out how long he'd been here, reason out how much time had passed, one puzzle piece would fall into place. He hadn't felt this disoriented and powerless since those first dark and dismal months after Tikrit.

With those lingering memories, he cast himself down on his bunk. Although physically and mentally spent, the knowledge that he'd be jolted awake as soon as he drifted off kept him from sleeping. His eyes were gritty with fatigue, his mind was racing, his thoughts, scattered and random. "Focus, Anderson," he muttered sitting up again and scrubbing his face.

Auggie had always done his best thinking when moving. Some of his best ideas came to him at the gym or on walks around his neighborhood. Suddenly he was overcome by an overwhelming longing for fresh air. That wasn't possible, so carefully he started pacing.

There were too many unknowns about this whole mission, he realized, and he was beginning to feel that maybe Annie had been right. Maybe, he had no business being in the field. What was he thinking? Joan should have stopped him. It was pure hubris to think that a blind man could get to the bottom of this, where operatives with all their senses intact could not .

"Get a grip, Anderson. Focus on what you've got, on what you can do." He took a breath and squared his shoulders. He could do this. He would focus on the mission. He'd whatever it took to make sure that what happened to Danny and the others, never happened to anyone else. He wouldn't torment himself with things he couldn't change. If he couldn't track the passage of time, then, to hell with it! Time would cease to matter, and he would live entirely in the moment Only the outcome mattered. He would sleep whenever he could, and work out when he couldn't. This wouldn't last forever. It would only feel like forever.

* * *

><p>Joan knocked on the frame of Marty's lab in the DS&amp;T. "Anything from Auggie's phone?"<p>

"Looks like he turned on the digital recorder app when his abductors entered the office. We have two voices, Auggie's and one of the intruders."

"Run it through the voice recognition software, let's see if it matches anyone we have here."

"I'm already on it."

Twenty minutes later Marty picked up the phone and dialed Joan's office. "We have a match," he said.

* * *

><p>Dr. Allen walked into the video control room. "Status update?"<p>

The research assistant responded, her eyes never entirely leaving the bank of monitors. "Patient Thirty-Two is still sleeping off the effects of the sedative administered ...uh...eighty-four minutes ago. Patient Fifty-Seven is undergoing treatment in the sensory lab and should be back in his room in about twenty minutes. Patient Twenty-Seven is withdrawn and unresponsive. Patient Sixty is agitated, and pacing his room."

Allen leaned in close to the monitors. Captain Anderson was moving back and forth across the room, his lip occasionally moving. "Bring up the mics. Can you make out what he's saying?"

"Seems to be giving himself some sort of pep talk."

Dr. Allen watched a little longer. Anderson would tire soon. He'd been awake almost non-stop since he'd arrived. The doctor didn't really understand the rationale behind this approach, but he was being generously rewarded for his participation and the exposure he would get, if these therapies provided positive results, would guarantee his funding for years ahead.

He cast another quick glance at the screen. "Okay, wait until he settles down, then have him brought to the consultation room."

* * *

><p>Joan waited silently as the waitress set the two large bowls on the table. The Vietnamese restaurant was packed with a mixed lunchtime crowd of students and DC professionals who flocked here in search of good food at a reasonable price. She smiled her thanks, cast a quick glance around the crowded restaurant and, picking up her chopsticks, turned to Marty. "So, what have you got?"<p>

Marty set down his spoon and pulled an mp3 player and two sets of ear buds from his pocket. "The recording isn't very clear," he said, handing one set to Joan. "Whoever it is, was probably quite some distance away from the phone." He hit "Play," and waited.

Joan's face was impassive. "Play it again." A moment later she removed one ear bud. "I heard Auggie, some music, and someone else quite farther away."

"Yeah, that's what I heard too, until I cleaned it up. First, I removed the music, then moved Auggie's voice to the background. What's left is the voice of our intruder. Listen now."

"It's still muffled. I can't make anything out clearly. Were you able to isolate the sounds?"

He gave her a quick smile, and played the next track. "Listen now."

The third time was the charm. It was much clearer this time. "Okay, but I still don't recognize him. Do we know who it is?"

"I ran it through our voice recognition software..."

"Marty..."

"It's Tomacek."

"Henry's odd-job man." Joan's mouth twitched upward in a bitter half-grin. "This gets better and better."

They ate in silence for a while, until Marty asked, "You giving this to Rossabi?"

Joan gave a thin-lipped smile. "It's his investigation."

"Yeah, but Auggie's your operative. He's the one who's out there in the field."

"Maybe so, but we can't reach him. We don't even know where he is ."

"He'll check in."

"I know he will. In the meantime, however, we have moles here, at least two, one known, one unknown."

"I can bug Tomacek's apartment, set some trackers on him, see who his contacts are. It would be one way of getting stronger evidence."

Joan nodded. "Keep it off book. Remember, that this is the Bureau's jurisdiction. Auggie indicated there were two intruders. Any way of finding out who the second man is?"

Marty shook his head. "Not with this. We need more to go on."

"Do what it takes, but keep it quiet."

* * *

><p>The orderly led Auggie into a different office this time, and set his hand on the back of an armchair. Auggie nodded his thanks, and sank into the cushions. He ran a hand over the fabric. "New digs?"<p>

"Are you comfortable, Captain Anderson?" Dr. Allen touched a water bottle to the back of Auggie's hand.

He took a long drink, then leaned back and closed his eyes. It would have been so easy to fall asleep. "What kind of doctor are you?" he asked groggily, his eyes still closed.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. I don't think you're a psychiatrist. You'd have had me on meds by now. And your approach isn't like any psychologist's I've ever known. So what are you? Some random, unrelated PhD, like Dr. Phil or Dr. Laura? An economist maybe? Or maybe an art historian?"

Dr. Allen stifled a chuckle. "I can assure you, Captain Anderson, I'm fully qualified to oversee your treatment."

Auggie made a noncommittal noise.

"So, if you don't need anything, let's get started."

"I need to sleep."

"I'm sorry. I can't authorize that. The sleep deprivation serves a therapeutic purpose."

Auggie shrugged, and scratched his chin. "I could use a shower and a shave." he said at length.

"Depending on how things go today, I can send someone to shave you."

"I can shave myself!"

"Let's talk first, then I'll see what I can do."

"Why should I talk to you? Your people have stripped me of everything except what I have inside my head. That's all I have. If I just lay out my innermost thoughts, feelings and memories to you, then I have nothing left that's mine."

"If you don't talk to me, I can't help you."

One lesson Auggie learned early as the youngest of the five Anderson boys was that, in this sort of situation, the more forceful the interrogation the more valuable the prize. And as such the subject - no matter how subjugated - was still the one who held the greater power. Auggie had figured out how to play his brothers to his advantage, and he knew how to play this guy.

"Okay," he mumbled. "Alright." He sat up straighter and opened his eyes, but made no attempt to focus his gaze on the other man's face. Too weary to try to maintain any pretense of sight, he slipped back into the blindisms he usually tried to avoid. "I'll assume you read my files from the VA and Dr. Fenton. What else do you want to know?"

* * *

><p>Joan stepped into Tech Ops, pulling the door shut behind her. "Any progress?"<p>

Stu and Annie both looked up from the large satellite map. "We've identified nearly thirty possibilities," Annie said.

"Down from over a hundred airfields that we started with," Stu added, "so we're making progress."

"Good," Joan nodded. "Annie, I want you to set up a meeting with Rossabi. You'll give him this," she said, holding out a flash drive.

"What is it?" Annie asked.

"The voice of one of Auggie's abductors, and information about who we think it might be. Get the information to Rossabi. Give him the drive but nothing more. Understood?"

"Understood."

* * *

><p>Auggie was growing impatient. "It's all in my files. Why do you keep asking me the same questions?"<p>

Dr. Allen shuffled through Auggie's file. "You felt that your last mission was doomed?"

"At the time? No. I was pissed that things kept going wrong, but I'm no fortune teller. If I had known it was going to turn into a suicide mission, I wouldn't have done it. I'd have backed out. It just seemed to me that someone somewhere along the line wasn't taking our work seriously. I didn't think they'd try to get us killed!

"So what happened?"

"We were betrayed."

"You think the Army betrayed you."

"No, not the Army. Someone in our unit betrayed us."

"And you never learned who?"

"Oh, I knew who it was. I saw him set the bomb, but it was too late."

"You saw him?" Allen asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I saw him. One of the last things I saw."

* * *

><p>Rossabi leaned against the hood of his car. "That's it?" he asked, pulling the ear buds out.<p>

A chill wind blew cold across the empty parking lot. Annie turned up her collar against the cold and dug her hands deep in her pockets. "That and a name are all we have at this time."

"Whose name?"

"We think it's an Agency support officer named John David Tomacek. He's also a part-time instructor at Camp Peary. He was a field operative before that."

Rossabi rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And let me guess, you're not going to tell me more than that about him."

"I've probably told you more than I should have already." Annie prepared to leave. "I need to get back to Langley," she said holding out her hand. "I've shared everything I can with you."

Rossabi shook Annie's offered hand. His brows jumped in surprise as he felt her press the flash drive into palm . "I'll get my team on this right away. Thanks."

Annie released his hand and turned towards her car. "Don't thank me. Find out who Tomacek's working for," she said over her shoulder. "And then lock those bastards away."

* * *

><p>"So what happened afterwards?" Dr. Allen asked.<p>

Auggie rubbed his eyes. "I'm not sure. My memory is patchy. A lot of what I know now comes from what I was told."

"So tell me what you remember."

Auggie's face twisted in pain. "Why ... why do you people always want to dredge up the past? It all happened a long time ago. Most of the people involved are dead. What purpose does it serve to rehash this over and over again?"

"It will help you get to the root of your trauma."

"You want to know the root of my trauma?" Auggie chose his words with care. "My unit was sold out... betrayed by someone I...we trusted. When I realized what was happening, I was too late to save my guys. They died. I lived. And afterwards, even more good, decent men died trying to rescue me. And I have to live with that, every day of my life."

Tears stung Auggie's eyes and his throat was tight with grief. "Every day, I ask myself why. I try to justify my survival. I've tried to honor their memory," he choked out. "I've tried to rebuild my life in a way that would make their sacrifice worth something. And just when I get back into the regular Army, and into a job where I can actually start repaying the debt, I end up here."

"You feel responsible for what happened to your unit?"

"Hell, yeah! Wouldn't you?"

"I suppose so, though I'm relieved to say I've never found myself in that kind of position, thank God."

"Yeah, well pray you never do." Auggie slumped in the chair. Angrily he swiped at tears trailing down his face. Stay in control, he reminded himself. Don't go back too deep. "What else do you want to know?"

"I think that's enough for today. I'll have someone bring you back to your room. Get some sleep, and we'll talk again tomorrow."

"Sleep? Yeah, right. Maybe this time, I'll get a whole ten minutes."

* * *

><p>"Done!" Annie said, and she stepped back into the bullpen.<p>

"Would that they all went so smoothly," Joan said coolly, coming up behind her.

"Any progress?"

"Not that I've heard, but check with Eric. I have other ops to oversee." With that, Joan dropped a thick file on Patrick's desk and leaned close, giving the young analyst instructions in a voice too quiet for Annie to overhear.

All through the bullpen, DPD staffers, operatives and analysts were engrossed in their work. Annie looked at her in-basket. A baby shower invitation. A couple of translations. Some cover maintenance research for a trip to Japan to acquire Japanese woodblocks for exhibit of Mary Cassat prints. Nothing major. Nothing urgent.

Annie dropped into her chair, and logged into her email, hoping to see something from Rossabi, or Stu, or, against all odds, something from Auggie. But her inbox was empty of anything worth her while. She grabbed a file at random. Anything to pass the time. Glancing across the bullpen, she saw Barber sitting in Auggie's old chair, staring hard at his computer screen. He was stroking his beard as he was wont to do when concentrating. Stu, still working on the list of airports, stood over a large map. He straightened, stretched a kink out of his neck, cracked his knuckles, and got back to his search. Annie was no slouch when it came to computers, but compared to the guys in Tech Ops, she was clearly out of her league. Stu had indicated as much, though not in quite so many words.

Without warning, Barber leaped from his chair tipping over a can of Coke. He ignored the spill and rushed out into the bullpen, and grabbed Joan by the arm. "Joan, you need to see this."

Joan, finished with Patrick, turned on her heel and followed Barber back to his office. As she turned to slide the door shut, she met Annie's gaze and nodded. That was all the invitation Annie needed.

"You found something?" Joan asked as soon as the door was shut.

Barber pulled up a satellite image showing an executive jet parked on a small airport tarmac. "That's our plane. In Deer Creek, Colorado."

Next to it, was a smaller, dark, slightly blurred object. "Is that what I think it is?" Annie asked, her eyes locked on the image.

"Zoom in," Joan ordered. At once the blurred image grew larger and clearer. "It's a commercial model Bell Huey II," she said. "They could have him anywhere."

Stu slumped in his chair, and with the back of his hand, shoved a stack of maps to the floor.

"So what do we do now?" Annie asked.

"It would appear that we've hit a dead end," Joan said. "We have other cases that require out attention. Set this aside for now. Maybe something will come up later."

Annie could not believe what she was hearing. "That's it? You're giving up? We're just going to leave Auggie out in the cold?"

Joan took a breath and stood even straighter. "Annie, this was always a back-up plan," she explained, never losing her composure. "Auggie is an experienced operative. He's found his way out of tighter spots than this. We have to trust that he will find a way to check in."

"What if he can't?," Annie argued. "What if he's injured? What if he doesn't have his equipment?"

"That's a lot of 'what ifs'." Barber noted. The team fell silent.

"I could try to track the helo," Stu suggested.

Joan shook her head. "Too time consuming. It's too easy to hide." She frowned and turned her gaze at the stack of papers and random bits of tech scattered on the desk, at the tipped over can of Diet Coke, and the puddle slowly dripping onto the floor. "Eric, you planning on cleaning that up?"

"Shit!" Barber grabbed a handful of tissue and started dabbing at the mess. "Auggie's gonna have my skin...supposing he gets through this," he muttered. "Whoever's behind this must have some pretty deep pockets," he offered, as he wadded up the soaked printouts and photographs, and stuffed them into burn bags. "Jets, helicopters, bogus psych facilities, personnel... Those things don't come cheap."

Annie's eyes grew wide. "That's it! Eric, you are a genius." She rushed over and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Yeah," he said, blushing. "Wait, what's going on?"

Annie smiled. "It's like they taught us at the Farm. 'Follow the money.' Who's funding all of this? Who can afford to pay for all this stuff? Who has the most to lose if what Auggie knows, if what Danny knew, comes out into the open? If we follow the money, we might not find Auggie right away, but we'll find out who's holding him, and what it is that they're going to such lengths to hide."

"It's like a three-pronged attack," Stu added. "Auggie gets the HUMINT, we follow the money trail, and Rossabi and his crew, look into the criminal aspects."

"So where do we start?" Annie asked.

Joan looked over her team. They were good, very good. She, however, had resources they couldn't access. "I have a contact that might provide us with a good place to start. In the meantime, we have other ops to occupy our time. Annie, gentlemen? You have work to do."

* * *

><p>"Rise and shine, Anderson."<p>

Auggie woke, and stretched. His knuckles bumped against the cool plaster of the wall and his feet dangled over the edge of the bed.

"C'mon, wakey, wakey!"

"Alright, I'm awake!" He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. Something was different this time. And that's when he realized what had happened. He had slept. They had let him sleep. He didn't know how long, but he was pretty sure it was the longest he'd slept since the night before his abduction. He'd given them a taste of what he thought they wanted to know, and they'd allowed him a few hours of blessed sleep.

"I'm supposed to take you to the showers this morning, and help you get cleaned up."

Auggie's shot him a quizzical look. "Just show me where the showers are, I can do the rest myself."

* * *

><p>Arthur entered the kitchen knotting his tie, and watched as Joan refilled her coffee cup and stirred in a splash of cream. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he asked, "Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?"<p>

"Why would anything be on my mind, Arthur?"

"For one thing, you never take a second cup unless some problem has kept you awake all night. Second, that's cream, not creamer you just poured in your coffee. I'm a spy. I'm paid to notice the little things."

"Sit down, Arthur."

Arthur frowned. "'Sit down'? Joan, what's going on?"

* * *

><p>Five days, maybe six. Auggie smiled and passed a hand over his chin. Five or six days since he'd been seized from his Pentagon office. Four days, as near as he could tell, since his brief and unexpected conversation with Tommy. And since then he'd been trying, with little success until just now, to keep track of time.<p>

But standing before the sink, his wits clear after a long and uninterrupted night's sleep, he suddenly realized that in some regards at least, his body followed its own regular, unchanging schedule. Specifically, his beard grew at a steady rate.

Once, a lifetime ago, when he'd been stationed in Turkey, he'd prepared for a deep-cover mission in Syria by brushing up on his Arabic, working on his tan, and letting his beard grow for several weeks. The disguise had worked, and with the help of a sweet little virus of his own design, he'd managed to shut down the local Taliban's communications network. More importantly, in light of his present circumstances, he'd been able to observe how long it took for his beard to grow.

Fast forward to this morning. He knew it was morning thanks to the orderly's slip up. After a long overdue shower, he'd convinced his minder that he was perfectly capable of shaving himself. Moments later, the orderly handed him a toiletry kit, which contained, among other necessities, an electric shaver. They were probably right not to trust him with a blade. No matter. Now, at least he'd be able to mark the passage of time. He might not have had any sense of day or night. Every other aspect of his life might have been thrown in disarray, but through it all his beard grew at a constant rate. By shaving each day when his beard was the same length, he could keep track of the time that had elapsed since he'd been taken. He rubbed a hand over his smooth chin again. Today was Day Five.

* * *

><p>"So," Arthur said thoughtfully, "Auggie is in the field. But according to the NCS, he's not-"<p>

"- fit for field duty. I know. But something came up, and he volunteered." Joan reached across the table for her husband's hand. "Arthur, you have to know that I would never put Auggie in that sort of situation unless I felt that he was absolutely capable of successfully completing the mission."

"I know that. And yet, he's out there, on his own. You should have told me."

"Yes, I should have. I realize that now. Now that you're fully read in, I need your help."

"What do you want me to do?"

* * *

><p>"So, Captain Anderson," Dr. Allen asked, in a congenial tone, "sleep well?"<p>

"Yes, I did. Thank-you."

"Water?"

"Thanks." He set the bottle by his feet.

"If you're comfortable and don't need any-"

"When I was taken...," Auggie interrupted, "...when I came here, they took away my cane. I'm tired of being shoved and dragged around. I need my cane."

"Let's talk, and then I'll ask around. I'll see what we can do."

Auggie nodded, hiding his inward smile. "Fair enough. What do you want to know?"

"Tell me what you remember from your unit's last mission."

Auggie sighed, and shook his head. "I've told you, my memories are confused. The IED messed up more than my sight. The doctors told me I might never remember those events clearly."

Dr. Allen typed a few words on his tablet. "Why don't you start with what you do know?"

"That's just it, I'm not sure which memories are my own, and what I was told afterwards."

"Just tell me what you remember most vividly.

This had better work, Auggie prayed. He took a deep breath and licked his lips. "I had just neutralized the target when -"

"Who was your target?"

"Some hajji who ran a terrorist cell in Tikrit."

"Did this 'hajji' have a name?"

Auggie smirked. "Everybody has a name. You try not to think too much about those things. He was a target. It was our job to take him out. To take down his network."

"So what happened next?"

For a long time Auggie said nothing. "I'd just finished checking the body for intel," Auggie said, after a long silence. "When I saw our unit's translator toss his pack under our Humvee. I raced out to warn my guys, but I was too late. It went off and ... and killed them all. I tried to warn them, but I was too late. I tried..." Auggie's breath came in gasps.

"Captain Anderson, do you need a moment?"

Auggie shook his head, and groped about his feet for the water bottle.

"It's a little farther to your left."

Auggie found it, and took a long drink. "I don't suppose you have anything stronger?" he laughed weakly.

"How did you manage to survive the explosion?"

"I was farther away."

"But not far enough to avoid being injured. Do you remember what happened next?"

"Not really."

"Did the blast knock you out?"

"The shockwave lifted me up and threw me ... I don't know how far. I was dazed, but I didn't pass out...not right away."

"What's the next thing you remember."

"I don't know. I don't remember much of what happened afterwards."

"How did you get away?

"My memory is full of holes," Auggie said. "There was this guy, Danny... something ... something French..." When I was in hospital, they told me he got a team together and came for me."

Dr. Allen waited silently for Auggie to continue. He didn't. "I think we're done for today, Captain Anderson."

Auggie nodded and stood up. Reaching out, he took a careful step towards the door. "Now can I have my cane?"

Dr. Allen waited for the orderly to lead Auggie away. As soon as he was certain that the blind Army officer was well out of earshot, he picked up the phone. "Allen, here. Patient Sixty is ready to move on to the next stage in his treatment. Prepare the lab."

_To be continued._


	16. What Stays and What Fades Away

_Sorry, dear readers. I didn't intend for the wait between chapters to be so ridiculously long. I was fully confident when I posted the previous chapter, that the next would be up within a week or two. Suffice it to say that life became instantly, insanely and unexpectedly busy, leaving me with no time to write. Life is still crazy, but, I've decided to embrace the beauty of procrastination, put off the important stuff for a couple of days, and get back to what really matters :)_

_I hope you're all loving Season Three as much as I am. I love the new intensity and high stakes we're seeing this season. I really like the direction the show has taken. Let's face it, this is the CIA we're talking about. It's dangerous work, and the Agency has never claimed to hold the moral high ground. The ambiguity of the job, the choice of the lesser evil in service to the greater good makes for delicious drama, but questionable personal ethics._

_Thanks for all the lovely reviews and follows. I cherish every single one. Thanks for the constructive criticism, and for taking the time to point out the errors, inaccuracies, and inconsistencies. It means a lot to me that you are paying such close attention to my story. I don't want to get caught up in the revision process right now, but after this epic is done, I'll go back and make the necessary revisions. To Mandy58, FBobs, Millemini, Gwynne G, and Patricia Louise, I offer especially heartfelt thanks for your encouragement and ideas. Any typos and errors I spot inthis chapter, I'll take care of after tonight's episode. I was in a hurry to get this posted, and as usual didn't have anyone to proofread._

_Just a quick word for those who have taken the time to review anonymously and have commented on the lack of Annie/Auggie romance. I'd have responded by PM but you reviewed anonymously. I'm trying to stay true to the mood of the first two seasons. So while there is flirtation and banter, Auggie and Annie will remain friends for the duration of this fic. I'm also trying to bring in the various supporting characters. I love the Joan/Arthur dynamic. I love Annie and her complicated relationships. (I covet her wardrobe. I'd learn to walk in those heels, or die trying!) I loved Stu (please, CA, bring him back!), and have a sweet spot in my heart for Barber, that goofy, teddy-bear of a techie. I also love Henry, well love to loathe him. What a character! So while Auggie is the main focus of the story, he is always part of an ensemble._

_Blah...blah..blah. Enough blithering blather. On with the story. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!_

**Chapter Fifteen: What Stays and What Fades Away**

Henry Wilcox drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk as he watched his mole rifle through a stack of papers. A secure Skype link may have been the way things were done now, but for a man who had spent his entire career in the shadows, it seemed reckless and a waste of energy. He had better things to do than watch some disorganized underling shuffling papers a couple of thousand miles away.

"I have it here, sir. Dr. Lindsay believes that Jefferson and DiStefano are ready to be reprogrammed, and that Marcus is getting close to the breaking point."

Henry Wilcox glowered at the Skype feed. "What about Anderson?"

John David Tomacek resisted the urge to flinch under the former director's basilisk stare. "Sir, Allen is convinced that Anderson doesn't remember the details of the Jack-of-Diamonds mission."

"Allen is a fool!"

"Sir?"

"Anderson is a liar, and a world-class manipulator. He is playing that shrink."

"I don't know, sir. His medical records show he sustained a significant brain injury. Isn't it possible that his memory was affected?"

"So you're a doctor now?" Henry sneered.

"No, it's just that..."

"Do not underestimate August Anderson. He is a highly-trained operative who is unsurpassed at manipulating people. He was one of the best damn operatives this agency ever had."

"But he's blind, sir."

"Yes, and be glad he is otherwise you would never stand a chance against him. He will use his handicap to his advantage. He'll play the pity card and get you and everyone else to feel sorry for him. Do whatever it takes, but make sure the memory of his deployment in Iraq is wiped clean. Make sure he remembers nothing about those last months before Tikrit."

"Yes, sir. Sir, there's one more thing..."

"What?"

"He wants his cane, sir."

"His cane? What the hell does he need that for? Find someone to walk him around."

"Sir, he keeps asking for it. He might be more cooperative if we give it to him. Might let him think we really are trying to help him."

"Have you checked it out? Can he use it as a weapon?"

"I suppose he could. If he's as good as you say he is, sir, he could probably use anything as a weapon. But he's under constant watch, and has a guard on him twenty-four-seven. Two when he's out of his room. "

Henry paused. "Make him earn it. Make it contingent on his cooperation. If he sets one foot wrong, take it away. Understood?"

"Understood, sir."

* * *

><p>Joan stepped out onto the mezzanine overlooking the bullpen. "Annie. Eric. My office.<p>

Barber and Stu exchanged glances. "Anything you want me handle, boss?"

"Everything's quiet... for now." In Spyworld, even the quietest of situations could turn chaotic in a matter of seconds. "Keep an eye on things. I'll be right back."

Annie was waiting on the couch when he entered.

"Close the door, Eric." Joan said, and lowered the blinds. She crossed to her desk and pulled a slim black zippered case from the drawer. "Eric, I want you to conduct a covert entry at Tomacek's townhouse in Tysons Corner." She handed him the case. "You'll find everything you need, down to matching paint to repair the walls, and a tranquilizer for the dog."

"He has a dog?

"According to his file, he had a yellow mutt as recently as six months ago. His sister takes care of it when he's away. We don't know if he's home or away these days."

"How does this concern me?" Annie asked.

"According to your file, you haven't done a covert entry since leaving the Farm. Barber needs backup. You need practice. This should be straightforward. Get in. Plant the devices. Get out."

"Yes, ma'am," Annie grinned. Something new for her bag of tricks.

"Stu will be your handler on this. Eric, whatever you were handling, Stu and Patrick can share until you get back."

"Got it."

"Good, and Annie, Eric's in charge. You do what he says, understood?"

"Understood."

"We don't want to attract any attention. It's a simple in, out, and back to the DPD. No shenanigans."

* * *

><p>Auggie woke with a start. That, in itself was not unusual. What was unusual was that he couldn't recall going to sleep. Sleep was often slow to come, and he often spent the quiet hours reviewing missions, planning for the unexpected, or revisiting the past. Sometimes, he thought before finding himself in this place, it was just easier to stay awake.<p>

It was also curious that he was surrounded by warmth and seemed to be suspended in nothingness. This was either the world's most comfortable bed, some kind of hammock, or the next step in his so-called treatment.

They'd drugged him again. That much was evident from the fuzziness in his brain. The last thing he remembered was walking back to his room after having told Dr. Allen a version of the Jack-of-Diamonds disaster. He'd been following yet another nameless attendant, walking through the featureless maze of corridors. Had he made it to a room? They had paused before a door. But after that? Nothing.

He tried to reach out, to explore as best he could, but found that his hands were bound, their movement restricted. So were his feet. Not a bed or hammock, then. This was a new but not entirely unexpected development.

He'd known this was coming. They, whoever they were, would tolerate his stubbornness for only so long. It was the logical and inevitable next step. The piecemeal information he'd fed his captors so far only served to whet their appetite. As far as they were concerned, he was a traumatized vet with suppressed memories that were just waiting for the right moment to resurface and scuttle their current schemes. At least that's what he hoped. And that was why he was trussed up in a sensory deprivation chamber... again!

He'd been in this situation before, when, as a fresh faced Second Lieutenant, he'd volunteered for Special Forces. SERE training had honed his leadership skills and toughened his resolve. And it had subjected him to every manner of indignity. In retrospect, sensory deprivation had seemed the mildest, although in time, it had messed with his mind the most. More than the exhaustion, more than the cold and hunger, even more than the physical hardship, the absence of sensory stimuli had played merry havoc with his perception.

The most surprising had been the hallucinations. The first time he found himself in the tank he'd found himself questioning reality. After several hours in complete darkness, he'd seen his next older brother sitting at his feet with a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. At one point, Ginger, the family dog had ambled by, and a while later, he could have sworn he was lounging in his old tree house, surrounded by his stash of candy and stack of comic books. He'd been a mess when they'd finally dragged him out a day later, and could barely remember his own name. What had followed had come close to breaking him. It hadn't. It wouldn't now, either.

Thanks to his old pal Nasir and his friends, the absence of visual stimuli wouldn't be quite so disturbing this time around. In fact, if some secret corner of his brain still remembered, he might actually welcome the sight of his brother's smiling mug, his dog, or anything else for that matter.

He tried to shift his position, and for show, he tugged at his restraints. He'd been on the other side of the tank, too, and he knew there were monitors recording his every move. Resistance, while futile, was expected. He didn't want to disappoint. He struggled against his bonds again, more dramatically, and screamed curses at his captors. His voice sounded deeper than usual and was muffled by more than water and the closeness of the chamber. Earplugs! Nice.

His hands and feet were in restraints, but they weren't immobile and he could move his fingers and feel the resistance of water. He turned his head, first to the left then to the right and realized his eyes were covered with some soft, rubbery material. "An eye mask?" he called out to his silent watchers. "Really? Overkill, don't you think?"

As best he could, Auggie stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders. The restraints and high salinity of the water made movement difficult. On the plus side, it also meant that he couldn't sink and drown. Well, not without some real effort.

Some people actually paid good money for this sort of thing. Might as well relax and enjoy the experience.

* * *

><p>Joan made a quick survey of her department. Satisfied that all was under control, she paused by her assistant's desk. "Rebecca, hold my calls," she said, then stepped into her office, closed the door and shut the blinds.<p>

Taking a quick look around the office, more out of habit than in the expectation of finding anything amiss, she moved across the office to the wall where her awards, citations, and distinctions were arranged in a tasteful display clearly designed to demonstrate that Joan Campbell possessed not only the connections, but also the skill, experience, and intellectual wherewithal to hold a director's position in the CIA. She closely examined the frame surrounding the citation for her role in Operation Hurricane, and looked for the tell she'd placed a third of the way down the right-hand side. Satisfied that it hadn't been moved or tampered with in any way since the last time she'd checked it, she lifted the frame away from the wall revealing a small safe. She punched in a series of codes, waited exactly six seconds, then pulled open the door.

The safe was filled with stacks of passports, various IDs, cards, key tags, and bundles of cash in various denominations. All of these she bypassed and reached to the back of the safe. She pulled out a plain white envelope, which she pulled out and set on her desk. Then she shut and armed the safe, replaced the award, and sat down at her computer.

She checked the envelope for evidence of tampering, then neatly slit one end and tipped out the contents: an ID badge and a flash drive. "This had better work, Auggie," she muttered, and inserted the drive into her computer. At once, the familiar CIA desktop disappeared, replaced by the World Bank logo. She typed in her NOC's login credentials. At once, Auggie's little masterpiece of cyber mischief started worming its way through the World Bank's security systems. Normally, she would have entrusted this type of sleuthing to one of her financial intel analysts, but this op was anything but normal. Besides, she'd be damned if she'd bring one more person into Auggie's circle of trust.

In under a minute, she was through the complex system of safeguards and encryptions. The records of the world's major financial institutions were, literally, at her fingertips. Joan released a breath. "Thanks, Auggie."

* * *

><p>"... One-hundred-twelve, Copernicium, symbol Cn, atomic mass 285... One-hundred-thirteen, Ununtrium, symbol Uut, atomic mass 286..."<p>

It always surprised Auggie how quickly he returned to his old habits. Back in the old days, reciting the Periodic Table helped ward off boredom and keep his focus. In college, it had won him drinks on Engineering pub crawls. On overnight guard duty, he'd recited it backwards, forwards, alphabetically, chronologically, and in the style of Tom Lehrer. Funny, how in spite of all the changes life had thrown at him, a long-ago challenge dating back to his days at Central Middle School still managed to keep his mind engaged. Funny, too, how automatically whenever the discovery of new elements was announced, he'd memorized them too, and added them to his mental list.

"One-hundred-fourteen, Flerovium, used to be called, hold on... Ununquadium ... symbol Fl - flerovium, not fluorine, that was just plain F - focus Auggie, right, Flerovium, one-hundred-fourteen, symbol Fl, atomic mass 289..."

How long had he been here, anyway? It didn't really matter. Time didn't matter. All that mattered was the mission. Being here in the tank, meant that his cover was solid, and that the mission was progressing. He'd played his part convincingly so far, and as long as he kept his focus and paid attention, the mission would succeed. For Tommy's sake, and for Danny, Mariam, and all the others who'd been brought to this place, the mission had to succeed.

"One-hundred-fifteen, Ununpentium..."

* * *

><p>Eric Barber swept his binoculars past the black Ford Escape parked in the driveway, up and down the quiet tree-lined street in Tysons Corner, and paused on the townhouse across the street. The late November sun had set early, and neighborhood families were settling down to dinner. Annie, crouched in the shadow of the neighbor's cedar hedge, kept watch on the rear of Tomacek's house. Parabolic microphones in the SUV parked two houses away were trained on the windows and doors.<p>

Surveillance teams had kept watch on the house for three days straight, and in all that time, not once had Tomacek himself been spotted. According to the paperwork, he was working as a fight instructor at the Farm, an assignment that required a long, but manageable commute. Barber had double-checked with one of his contacts there, however, and Tomacek had been out sick all week. They'd assumed he was resting at home, but he was either really sick, or really dead. Or maybe he just wasn't there. No one had reported seeing any sign of him.

A woman of middle years had come by the townhouse twice to collect the mail and water the plants. A housekeeper, Barber presumed. She arrived each time around ten, and was gone by two. Every evening the lights went on just before five, one in the front hall downstairs and another in the upstairs hallway. They went out one after the other each night around eleven-thirty. There was no sign of a dog. Barber was thankful for that. He loved dogs, but they were unpredictable, and unless you were carrying pork chops in your pockets, you never really could tell how they would react.

There was only one sure way to find out whether or not Tomacek had been here, or if the house was just a front. He took one last look at the house, checked his bag to make sure all the equipment was there. He composed a quick text message to Stu and Marty, then slung a dark canvas backpack over his shoulder and slipped out the side door. "You ready, Annie?"

"Ready," came her whispered reply through the earpiece.

The neighborhood yards were all similarly arranged: chain-link fences stylishly disguised by hedges on each side, screened pool enclosures. This is where Barber chose to enter. He signaled for Annie to join him. With a practiced eye, he made a quick survey of the room and its contents. In an instant he found what he'd been looking for: a small plastic case, high in the corner above the sliding glass door. He called it in.

Stu was on the line at once. "Barber, talk to me."

Eric smiled, and wondered if the kid was mimicking Auggie on purpose. Probably not. Stu was so earnest it was a wonder he ever accepted an Agency job. "Stu, I have an ADT, model 7460."

"Gimme a second." A moment later the junior tech was back on the line. "Okay, the signal is deactivated. You are clear for the next 27 minutes. Check in when you're done. Good luck, guys."

"Got it. Thanks."

He set down his bag, and slipped on a pair of latex gloves and indicated that Annie should do the same. He pressed the heel of his palm into the mesh near the corner of the screen. In an instant, the spline popped out of its channel. Barber lifted a corner of the screen, stretched his hand through, and quietly opened the door. Retrieving his bag, he stepped aside. "Ladies first." He followed and made for the sliding glass door.

The lock posed no challenge, and he smiled as the tumblers fell into place. It always surprised him how even spies and cops relied never bothered to upgrade the locks on their doors. He took a quick look around, and pulled a can of dry shampoo from his bag. He sprayed it into the room. The fine particles would highlight any lasers or trip lights. There were none.

Why should there be? Barber thought. Tomacek would be a fool to keep any sensitive or incriminating materials in his home. Installing a high-end security system in his home would only raise eyebrows and suspicions at Langley.

He quickly got to work. He opened the bag, and gave Annie a handful of simple bugs to set in the wall sockets, and light switches. He pointed upstairs and she nodded. "Ten minutes," he whispered. She nodded. She might never have done this on an op, but she'd done it often enough at the Farm. She disappeared up the stairs.

Barber pulled a small hand-drill from his inside jacket pocket, and silently pierced a hole high on the wall above the television set . He set a buttonhole camera and mic, then covered the hole with a fine screened mesh. He pulled a brush and small jar of paint from his bag. This had better be the right color. He couldn't risk turning on the lights to check. Marty had had assured him that the paint would be a perfect match.

He dabbed a spot of paint over the mesh, and stepped back to admire his work. The bug was invisible.

He swept up the dust, put his supplies back in the bag and was reaching down for the laptop lying on the coffee table when the lights blazed to life.

"FBI. Step away from the table, and put your hands above your head where we can see them!"

* * *

><p>"Is he in?" Joan asked as she stepped into the DCI reception area.<p>

"He's waiting for you," Arthur's assistant said, and picked up the phone. Joan didn't wait but stepped into Arthur's office without waiting to be announced.

"You need to look at this," she said as she dropped a file on Arthur's desk.

Arthur slipped on his glasses and quickly scanned the bank statements. "This doesn't add up."

"Check the dates. The payments go back six years."

"What was Henry involved in six years ago, that he needs to keep quiet now?"

Joan gave a bitter laugh. "What hasn't he been involved with?"

"Still... I don't know..." Arthur removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He said nothing.

"Arthur, Hoover's running point on this . We need to share this with them. This is out of our jurisdiction."

Arthur gave a non-committal grunt. "Any word from Auggie yet?"

"You're changing the subject. And no, nothing yet from Auggie. I trust him to check in when he can."

"And what if he can't? I still think it was reckless of you to send a blind man into the field. Now he's off-script and we have no way of tracking him down."

"He'll check in, Arthur. He knows how much is riding on this and his cover is perfect. He'll get to the root of this. Now, what do we do about this?" she asked, jabbing the file with a perfectly manicured fingernail.

Before Arthur could answer, Joan's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and made for the door.

Arthur stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. "Give me a day to do a little digging from my end. One day. You can call it in to the Bureau tomorrow night. Let's make sure that when we do give them something, that it's enough to put Henry away for a long, long time."

Joan hurried down to Tech Ops. "What going on?"

Stu brought Annie up on the speaker phone. "Is Joan there?"

"I'm here. What happened?"

"The FBI was staking the place out. They arrested Eric."

Joan shook her head. Annie was a great operative, but she had a talent for attracting trouble.

"Where are you?"

"At the Seven-Eleven two blocks over. I don't think they suspected I was there. I was upstairs setting bugs when Rossabi and his team busted in."

"Stay where you are," Stu said. "Your ride should be there in under ten minutes."

"Annie, my office when you get back. No detours."

* * *

><p>Vincent Rossabi strode into the interrogation room. Fuck Langley, and fuck their spook games! He wanted to punch something or someone! He might start with the bearded CIA techie sitting cuffed to the table.<p>

He dismissed the two agents.

"Sir? Procedure dictates -"

"Screw procedure. I need to talk to this mope."

"But, sir..."

"Alone! Didn't you hear me? Get the hell out!"

The two junior agents scurried out, casting Rossabi a suspicious look as they left. As soon as the door clicked shut, Rossabi rounded on Barber. "What the hell you were doing at our op? We've had a team staking out that place twenty-four-seven for the last month!"

Barber said nothing. Instead, he toyed with his handcuffs, picked at a hangnail, and smiled at the mirror on the opposite wall.

Damn spooks! "Okay, lemme guess. You're not talking until your lawyer shows up."

Barber gave the FBI agent a beatific smile but said nothing.

Rossabi turned away and leaned against the window frame. D.C. spread out before him. For several calming moments, he watched the traffic moving along Pennsylvania Avenue. God, but he hated the CIA! Bullshit artists, the lot of them! While the FBI prided itself on being upfront and honest, well, most of the time at least, Langley replenished its fetid ranks with the most duplicitous sons of bitches it could find. It trained and polished them, then sent them out into the world to stir up more shit! "I must have been insane when I agreed to this," he muttered, shaking his head. As far as he was concerned, nothing good had ever come out of Langley. Even the Khani case had brought him nothing but trouble with all its unanswered questions. Why had he thought, even for a moment, that dealing with these spooks would be any different?

He took a breath, and pushed away from the window. "In case you've forgotten," he said, "we are on the same side. This is a joint operation between your employers and mine. We both want the same thing. "

"No argument from me," Barber replied.

"No? Then why does your team feel obligated to derail my op at every opportunity."

Barber shrugged. "You'll have to be more specific. I'm just a tech guy."

Rossabi doubted that. Nobody in the CIA was _just _ any one thing. "If my team were truly running this game, we would have swept through Langley and hauled your spook asses off to jail."

Barber looked up. "A game? Really? Is that what this is to you? It may be all about racking up points, tallying up more wins, especially when you can humiliate the CIA. But to us, Rossabi, it's about only one thing: keeping Americans safe.

"You think I don't care about national security? I took an oath, just like you did."

"I think you care more about your own reputation. But maybe that's just me. That oath you took, maybe it's just words on a page to you. To me, it's personal and it's a promise to every one of our operatives out there keeping us safe. This mission is no different. It's not just about putting bad guys away. It's not about reaping the rewards. Our pictures don't get published in the paper. This op might be a chance for you to drag the CIA through the mud. But for me, it's about helping Auggie look out for his guys."

"You seem to think highly of your boss."

"Auggie's more than a boss, he's my friend. And yes, I do respect him."

"Because he's blind?"

"Because he's loyal.

Rossabi paused. "If that's truly the case, why is your team doing everything in its power to keep my team from investigating this case?"

* * *

><p>Auggie rippled his fingers through the water, trying to match the lightning fast fingerings of the Thelonious Monk improvisation that was playing in his head. Ten years of piano lessons as a kid, and he still couldn't move his fingers fast enough. Damn Billy Rowland for infecting him with his love of this complicated music.<p>

"Don't go cursing me, dude, no one ever twisted your arm."

"What?"

"By the time you got into jazz, I was long gone and bopping to the Bird, Dizzy, and Miles in the jazz club ethereal. You came to your musical senses just a little too late to thank me."

Auggie blinked in the darkness and turned his head towards the teasing voice. Lieutenant William J. Rowland was floating next to him, arms folded behind his head. The late Lieutenant William J. Rowland. Auggie blinked again, hard. He could see him. He could actually see him. "Billy?"

"Long time no see, Captain."

Auggie gave a choke of laughter. "You have no idea." Then he backed away as much as his restraints allowed. "You're not real, man. I saw you die." The tank was beginning to mess with his head.

"Reality is overrated."

"But I can't... I shouldn't be seeing you. The explosion..."

"Details."

"You're kidding, right?"

Billy laughed. "You were always one to get hung up on details. You were such a pain in the butt trying to plan for every contingency."

"Every contingency but one. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? For what, this?" Billy tilted his head back and pointed at his throat.

Auggie saw the bullet hole, still fresh and faintly trickling blood. He swallowed hard. He had seen death in many guises, but never quite like this. He was thankful that the back of Billy's head was underwater. He'd often imagined the devastation the Hajji's bullet must had wreaked.

"You okay, Auggie? You're looking a little green."

Auggie shook his head, and was rewarded with a mouthful of warm saltwater. He gagged, coughed and spat.

"Careful there, Captain, don't go drowning on me. Don't need another dead soldier. The mead benches of Valhalla are getting crowded, man."

"Seriously?"

Billy guffawed. "No! Sheesh, you're still as gullible as you used to be."

"And you're still as insubordinate!"

"Yeah, well rank doesn't carry much weight under these circumstances. I mean, seriously, take a look around."

Auggie closed his eyes. This was crazy. He was finally going crazy.

"You're not crazy. These situations, they just tend to break down barriers."

"What situation?"

"Yours... mine. You okay now?"

"Just peachy. What is this situation exactly?"

"You , blind, naked as the day you were born and stuck inside this contraption. Me, dead, and dropping in for a chat."

"For the record, I don't believe any of this is real."

"Noted."

"Good. So why are you here?"

Billy stretched and rolled onto his side. "I know you're a tech guy, but did you ever read _The Odyssey? _You know, when Odysseus visits Achilles in the Kingdom of Hades so he can learn how to move on and get home?"

"Huh?" Billy hadn't changed in one regard, at least. He still dropped obscure literary non-sequiturs.

"Look, I don't know how I came to be here or how long I've got, but this wasn't your fault, okay? I never blamed you. None of us ever did. You did what you could. It was just our time to go."

By now, Auggie could feel his tears soaking the mask over his eyes. "If only I'd..."

"If, nothing!" Billy interrupted. "If anyone's to blame, it's Nasir, and the ones who planted him in our unit. Not you. Understood?" Auggie nodded. "Besides, you took care of the bastard."

"It was the least I could do."

"No. The least would have been to do nothing. You could have holed up in your hotel room with that hot stewardess. Damn, she was something else! Shame you never got to see her."

"You been watching me? For a dead guy, you're one sick bastard."

"Kinda hard not to watch when you keep dragging us around with you all the time."

"What do you mean?"

"You know some cultures believe photographs capture the soul?"

Auggie's head was spinning at the insanity of all this. "Dude, you are still as obtuse as you were when you were alive."

"The picture, Auggie. The one in your wallet. The one you memorized the morning Danny took it. You always carry it with you. You take it out every day, run your fingers over it in some penitential ritual, and you weave your grief and guilt into a hair shirt that you never, ever take off. Only, Auggie, there's no penance required. No need for absolution. The sin wasn't yours."

"What are you saying?"

"Let it go."

"I can't. I've got to see this thing through."

"For who? Us or you?"

"Honestly? I don't know anymore."

"Okay, but promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"When all this is over, you'll lay us all to rest. Me, an' Jason, an' Chris, an' Danny. You'll bury the past. You'll be done with the grief, the guilt and regrets. You survived the mission, dude. You're alive, so live."

Auggie nodded, and felt his eyes sting with tears again. He didn't even try to stop them this time. "I will. I promise."

"Good. 'Cause I wouldn't want to have to come back and haunt you."

"Right, so this is..."

"Just a friendly visit. Look, Captain, I gotta run. _Illegitimi non carborundum_ And don't forget what I said."

"I won't" Billy's form was becoming indistinct, and the tank was growing dim again. "Billy?"

"Yeah?" his voice was a faint whisper.

"Save me a place in Valhalla. I like mead."

And though his ears rarely misled him, Auggie wasn't sure if the sound he heard was the lapping water, or the fading sound of Billy's laughter.

* * *

><p>"Doctor Allen? Captain An... ehr...Patient Sixty is becoming agitated. He's thrashing and muttering."<p>

"Bring up the speaker."

"I think he's hallucinating. He seems to be having a conversation." The research assistant frowned. "I can't make out what he's saying."

Dr. Allen turned the volume up higher. "Are we recording this?"

"Yes, sir."

Neither Dr. Allen nor the assistant spoke as they watched their patient splash about and tug against his restraints.

"What did he just say?"

"Couldn't make out the whole thing, Doctor. Something about being insubordinate, I think."

"He's back with his unit?"

"Looks that way, Doctor. That's what we want, right?"

"It's one way of dealing with the trauma. Listen for specifics: names, operational details."

"How would that alter his course of treatment?" she asked, perplexed.

"It wouldn't, but it could alter our funding. If he were to start spilling classified information, we need to report it before it puts America at risk."

"Yes, sir." She turned her attention back to the screen, and to the man, bound and naked, who was splashing and muttering in the tank. "I'm not sure, but I think he said 'Billy'. Is that important?"

"Could be." He flipped through Anderson's file. "Here it is. There was a Lt. William Rowland in his unit. He was killed during the patient's final mission."

The thrashing stopped. They watched a while to see if he would become agitated again. He didn't "How much longer do we keep him in there, Doctor?"

Dr. Allen checked his watch. "These episodes usually occur in cycles. We need to leave him in a while longer.

"How long is a while?" she asked, but Dr. Allen had already left the monitoring lab.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure no one saw you?" Joan asked<p>

"Positive. They were so focused on Barber, I don't think they ever considered there might be anyone else."

"And you planted the bugs."

"Most of them. I don't think they'll do much good, though."

"Why's that?"

"No one was there, Joan. No one had been there in weeks. There were a dozen messages on the answering machine, at least three week's worth of mail on the credenza, and an undisturbed layer of dust on the furniture. I did find something interesting in the upstairs bathroom." She pulled a lotion bottle from her pocket and handed it to Joan.

Joan took a sniff and made a face. "What is this stuff? Liniment?"

"A rosemary oil heat rub. I think it might be the source of Auggie's piney smell. I think Tomacek was the one tailing him in Vermont."

"Thank-you, Annie. Close the door on your way out."

Shaking her head, she watched the young operative leave, then placed her call to Hoover.

* * *

><p>Auggie was driving... speeding alone through the dark and featureless desert night. The roads in and out of Baghdad were treacherous at the best of times, but racing through pitch darkness was plain madness. He had no choice. He had to get to Tikrit. His unit was there and he had to warn them. There was a traitor in their midst and they were in mortal danger. He looked around, but there was nothing to see. He'd been driving for hours, but there were no lights in the distance to show that he was nearing his destination. The power lines had been blown to hell in the opening salvos of the war, the road were rutted and pitted with craters. He could only pray that he wouldn't trigger an IED in his mad race against the clock. There was no time for caution. He had to find his guys.<p>

* * *

><p>"So, Joan, how 'bout a romantic mid-week get-away?"<p>

"Tonight?" Joan stared at her husband. "In the middle of a busy week?"

Arthur moved to the front of his desk, and took his wife's hand. A mischievous grin spread across his features. "If we waited for the weekend, then it wouldn't be a mid-week getaway."

Joan couldn't resist a smile of her own. She could just imagine the number scrapes that choirboy smile and those impish blue eyes had gotten Arthur out of. This time, however, the blue eyes were clouded. There was more to this rendezvous than a spontaneous mid-week tryst. "What exactly did you have in mind?" she cooed.

He turned over her hand, and pressed a handwritten note in her palm, brushing his lips across her knuckles as he released her hand. Joan glanced at the note and arched her brows. "I could be finishing late."

"I'll wait up."

Joan turned to leave the office. "I'll be there."

"Pack light."

Joan added a little extra sway to her hips as she sashayed out of the office.

* * *

><p>Barber hurried across the street, and ducked into the shadows behind a tall oak tree. He pressed his back against the rough bark, wishing he could just call Tech Ops for backup. Instead, he was waiting in a darkened yard next door to Tomacek's townhouse, wearing Rossabi's idea of a joke.<p>

"Could you possibly look any more like a perp?" Rossabi hissed, ambling up to Barber's tree.

"I don't want to be seen. Okay? I happen to like working in the shadows. This," he said, pointing to the large white letters on the back of his borrowed nylon jacket, "only makes me stand out all the more."

"Yeah, well, it's my op, and I believe in the deterrent power of strong and visible law enforcement."

"Gee, thanks for the civics lesson, dude. Can we get on with this?" he asked, and pulled out his phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"Tech Ops. We need to jam the alarm system... again!"

"I'll just have my guys disable the connection. It's quicker."

"Yeah, like that won't raise any questions when Tomacek returns home."

"He can ask his questions when he haul him into Hoover."

Barber shook his head. "You Feds, you flash your badges, wave your guns, roll in with your bulldozers... sometimes a more subtle approach is more effective. The only thing you'll be deterring is Tomacek's return to the roost."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a veteran CIA operative. He's been in the Agency for years. Operatives who stay around that long develop razor sharp instincts for when an op is about to go south. They notice even the smallest inconsistencies and irregularities. You guys come storming in here with all the subtlety of a wrecking crew, and you really expect him to come waltzing on in? With all the ruckus you've been raising, you'll be lucky if he ever sets foot within a hundred miles of DC again."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Pull your dogs off. Don't let them within a mile of the place. Let me finish the job I came here to do. Let me have a look around, plant my devices and get the hell out of Dodge."

"I'm not letting you in there alone. I don't trust you."

"Dude, that's your problem. My guess is that you wouldn't trust your mother if she was with the Agency, but that's just my take on it. We can discuss your trust issues some other time. I've got a job to do."

Rossabi smirked and gestured for one of his men to step back. "Go on in, Spook, but I'm going with you."

"After you, G-Man."

* * *

><p>Arthur watched appreciatively as his wife stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. A twenty-first century Venus, in a loosely-belted hotel robe, and toweling her hair. He had half a mind to toss away the thick folder he'd been reading, and ravish her there and then. National security be damned.<p>

"What's that?" Joan asked, spoiling his plans.

"Something above your clearance. Hell, it's almost above mine." Without another word, he slid the folder across the bed.

"Arthur... I shouldn't. If someone were to find out, it could..."

"...lead to charges of treason? I won't tell if you don't. Besides, in this case, I think that service to the greater good would exonerate us."

Joan cast him a brief questioning look then picked up the folder. With a practiced eye, she quickly scanned the pages of military records. Names, units, dates and locations of service and deployments, awards, citations. The file read like a who's who of courage and sacrifice. The pages were bound in chronological order, with Auggie's file on top, followed by others that she knew: Mariam Usmani, Thomas Marcus, Danny Bolduc. Each person's name was followed by a serial number. Not the social or federal i.d. Several pages, she noticed, were stamped with a bright red "DECEASED". She quickly rifled through the folder. "Arthur, the names go all the way back to Operation Ajax. the 1953. The signature at the bottom of the first pages reads A.W. Dulles! Do you realize what this is?" Her hand flew up to her mouth, as she read further.

Finally, she put the folder down, and began pacing the room. "How did you get hold of this? These early files were supposed to have been destroyed back in the seventies."

"Being DCS has a few perks." Arthur smiled. Joan was rarely surprised or taken at unawares. That unflappable calm was what had made her such a great field operative, and what cemented her position within the administrative ranks of the CIA. His unshakable wife was now pacing and twirling a lock of damp hair. Something she only did when flustered and never for very long.

She noticed him staring, and stopped her restless pacing. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," he grinned. "Go to 1972."

Joan flipped through the pages. One name leaped off the page. The accompanying photograph was eerily familiar. She looked up, eyes wide in surprise, and met her husband's gaze from across the room. "Henry Wilcox?"

* * *

><p>Barber closed his bag. "Okay, the devices are all in place, and working. I'm going to take one last look 'round."<p>

Rossabi watched the CIA techie climb the stairs two even three at a time. Even he had to admit, the guy was enthusiastic about his job. And good at it. Just a few minutes after having set and array of audio, video, and thermographicbugs, Rossabi couldn't spot a single one. Too bad he was CIA. The Bureau probably could have used a few more like him.

* * *

><p>"And those are just the names of the participants. There's plenty more where this came from."<p>

Joan settled back against the pillows. "But the program was supposed to have been shut down. All files destroyed. There were Senate hearings. The Rockefeller Commission. We're still trying to recover from the black-eye the CIA got over this."

"Evidently, it wasn't shut down, just hidden under layers of bureaucracy and wrapped up in red tape. My guess is that we stopped using facilities in Canada and Western Europe, and brought things closer to home."

"Or subcontracted them to friends abroad who weren't burdened with a free press or scrutinized quite as closely as we are."

"Exactly."

"So what's Henry's part in all this?" Joan asked, glancing again at the photograph of a much younger Henry Wilcox.

"It says he volunteered for the program."

"He was in good company. Ted Kaczynski, Ken Kesey. Whitey Bulger."

Joan shook her head trying to imagine her arrogant former boss. Unexpectedly, a bubble of laughter worked its way up, and exploded in full-throated laughter.

"What is it? Care to share with your husband, Mrs. Campbell?"

"Can you imagine..." Joan paused to catch her breath, rested her head against Arthur's chest, then started giggling again. "Can you picture Henry Wilcox... tripping on acid?"

Arthur let her laughter run its course. He loved seeing his wife like this. "Henry came along late in the program," he explained a short time later. "My guess is that he knew what to expect when he volunteered."

Joan pushed away and looked Arthur in the eyes. "What about Auggie, do you think he knows?"

* * *

><p>"CHRIS? JASON?!" He needed to find them. Time was running out and they needed to get back to the Humvee. It was so dark in here. He needed to find his way out, get his guys back to the truck. Billy was waiting... "Chris... Jason..."<p>

Without warning, the hatch flew open and a pair of arms dragged Auggie out of the tank. The choking heat of the desert was replaced by warm, moist air. He fell to his knees on cold tile. He was dragged to his feet and a rough towel pressed in his hands.

The hatch slammed shut. He spun around, dropping the towel. He blinked hard against the darkness. "Where are my guys?" he asked, but that was wrong. Something about it was off. What was going on? "Turn on the lights. I need to find my guys!"

The towel was pressed into his hands again. It was thin and worn, but he dried himself as best he could. His hair and skin were coated with salt. He held out the towel. "Clothes?"

There was no answer, so he wrapped the towel around his waist, and took a few shuffling steps away from the tank. The floor was ceramic tile. The room smelled of bleach and, more faintly, of something more resinous. He'd smelled it before but couldn't remember where.

He took another step and collided with the wall. "Turn on the fucking lights!" A person could get hurt in the dark. Blinking hard, he ran his hands over the tiled surface. All of a sudden, another hand gripped his arm, turned him around, placed his hand on a metal knob, and gave it a twist. Warm water showered down upon him. Auggie gasped at the sudden dousing.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall, while invisible hands lathered his skin and washed the salt from his hair and body. Clean again, he allowed himself to be led into another room where he found a stack of towels and a set of clean scrubs. He dressed himself, then found a bench and sat and waited.

Slowly bits and pieces came drifting back into place. It wasn't the room that was dark. He knew that now. And Billy and the rest of his unit... that was just some crazy PTSD trick of the mind. They were long gone. He was on an op, and while his memory of the details was still sketchy, he knew it had something to do with his men and his last deployment.

"On your feet. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Arthur looked through Joan's World Bank data. "There's got to be a link between these numbers and the covert psych ops program he's running."<p>

"Maybe he's the one funding it?" Joan suggested.

"Henry's wealthy, but unless he's got another source of income, there's no way he could fund a scheme this big on his own. He's got to have financial partners."

"Who, aside from Henry, has the most to gain from this?"

"Or looking at it from a slightly different perspective, who has the most to lose if someone else is appointed to head of the Bureau of Intelligence and Research.

Joan curled in close to her husband's side. They'd had their rough patches, and heaven knew they had enough baggage to put a touring company of _Aïda_ to shame but in this, at least, she trusted Arthur implicitly. They would work together to get to the bottom of this. "We need to find out who's supplying the cash, and we need to find out now. The hearings are in three weeks. We need to have something solid and actionable before then. If Henry is appointed head of I and R, this will all be buried so deep, all evidence destroyed that it will never come to light in our lifetimes."

"Maybe it's time to read in your friends at Hoover."

"Are you sure about this, Arthur? Think of the risk. This could destroy you"

"We've all done things we regret, Joan. We don't often get the chance to go back and right old wrongs. Call in the Bureau. We'll share what we have."

* * *

><p>"Who were you talking to?" Dr. Allen asked.<p>

"Huh?" They'd brought him to a room. Maybe it was the one he'd slept in last. Maybe it was another. There was nothing here he could call his own, so it didn't really matter. He swung his legs over the side of his bunk and turned to face his therapist. "Was there someone I was supposed to be talking to? I thought that was you?"

"In the tank. You were talking with someone."

"No, I was alone. There was no one to talk to."

"You were talking with someone..."

"Are you telling me there was someone in there with me, because if there was, that's just creepy.

"Captain ..."

"There wasn't anyone in there with me. Maybe I was talking to myself. I do that sometimes. I talk to myself to keep my focus."

"Like when you recite the Periodic Table?"

Auggie gave the therapist a weary smile. "Yeah, like that. It helps pass the time."

"But afterwards, you were imagining a conversation. It happens all the time. When the external distractions are removed, the mind is free to explore unresolved issues."

"So, you soak me in a tub of salt water, dull the senses I have left, and hope it's enough to push me over the edge. This isn't enough for you? You need me to be blind, traumatized, and crazy? You want me to win the whole damned disability trifecta?

"We just want to help you."

"How? By planting ideas in my head? By making me relive the worst day of my life? Is that what you want?"

"Who were you speaking to, Captain? Who was there to help you chip away at those walls you so carefully built around your trauma?

Auggie swallowed hard. He leaned forward on his bunk and rested his elbows on his knees. "It was Billy. Billy Rowland. He died in Tikrit."

"How did he die?"

"He was shot. One minute we're joking about his taste in music. Next minute he's gone." He went on to tell how the others had died, the last things he remembered before the explosion. How he'd been rescued and brought home.

"So everyone in your unit was killed except for you and the translator."

"Yeah."

"What became of the translator?"

"He disappeared. I couldn't find out anything."

"What would you do if you found him?"

Auggie looked up. Did he know?

"Captain, what would you do if he were standing here in front of you?"

"I'd want to know why he betrayed us. And then I'd kill him."

The therapist glanced at his watch. "I think we're done for today, Captain. You look tired. Get some sleep."

Auggie stretched out on his bunk without bothering to crawl under the blankets.

"Oh, and before I forget..." Allen paused and pressed something against the back of Auggie's hand.

Auggie knew it at once, clasped it gratefully in both hands. He felt his eyes grow hot with tears. "Thank-you," he whispered hoarsely. "Thank-you."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued<em>


	17. Out of Sight, Out of Mind

_Thank-you all SO much for all the reviews, alerts, follows and private messages. Thanks, too, if you're just reading in lurker mode. Wow! I never thought any story of mine would get over a hundred reviews or the number of hits it has received. I'm flattered and humbled. And the muses are giddy. Goody, we like giddy muses!_

_This epic is winding down, and should be done in just a few more chapters. _

_Enjoy!_

_M&M _

**Chapter Sixteen: Out of Sight, Out of Mind **

Auggie sat on the edge of his bunk, bouncing his cane and tapping his feet to a favorite Ray Brown bass solo thrumming through his head. With all its intricate harmonics and clever improvisations, bebop was among Auggie's favorite forms of jazz. The dissonant melodies and scattershot rhythms provided the one scintilla of chaos that made his rigidly organized life bearable. On this day, however, they would serve a different purpose.

As soon as he'd returned to his room, Auggie had run a fingertip under the grip of his cane, seeking the familiar markings. Certain that the cane was his and not a substitute, he unfolded it, and used it to explore this latest room, sweeping it across the floor, running it along the perimeter, reaching up and down the walls in search of a window. There was none.

He was certain that the rooms here were wired and that his watchers would report any unusual behavior to their higher-ups. And so he did, what he always did to pass the time, he waited, and hummed various jazz tunes, and drummed his fingers, tapped his feet, bobbed his head, bounced his cane, and did everything his captors had come to expect of their somewhat unbalanced jazz aficionado inmate.

He'd given the phrasing of his first check-in message considerable thought. Straightforward Morse was out of the question, and so he'd come up with a code that he hoped his team would recognize but would escape his watchers' notice.

Now it was time. He casually gave the tip a quarter turn clockwise then pressed the cane down until he felt a gentle click . He held it still while bobbing his head and tapping his feet for a count of twelve. Keeping the rhythm of the bass solo, he sent a short message, just a routine check-in code translated into a sequence of numbers, translated again to add an extra level of complexity, then finally translated into Morse. After another twelve beat he folded up his cane, twisted the tip and ended the transmission.

Now all he had to do was wait.

* * *

><p>Rossabi pursed his lips as he leafed through the file in his hands. This was nuts. Another of Langley's games. A tantalizing tidbit the Agency was dangling in front of him just long enough to... what exactly? Distract him? Draw him off the scent?<p>

He looked up and met the placid gazes of the two spooks seated across the low table. The blond sat perfectly still, her hands delicately folded on her lap. They'd crossed paths twice before he'd agreed to run point on this op, and he still didn't know her name.

Her companion he knew all too well having seen him on C-Span, CNN, and Sunday Morning news shows, usually defending the Agency from one allegation or another. Arthur Campbell, the CIA's Director of Clandestine Services, the man who was rumored to have played Brutus to Henry Wilcox's Caesar, and who was already up to his eyeballs in hot water of his own. Were they playing him? He wouldn't put it past them. Why ask to meet him here in a suite at the Capitol Grand Hotel instead of walking into Hoover with their intel like honest people did?

He rubbed a hand across his chin. If this were true... sweet Mother-of-God... a win like this could finally wash away the lingering stench of the Hansen affair and the failures of 9/11. It would make his name. They'd be teaching this case at Quantico, writing books about it. Hell, maybe he'd write one himself.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting ahead of himself. He cast the pair a steady, sidelong glance. "How do I know any of this is true?"

"You can't know, not for certain, and at some point, you're just going to have to trust us." Arthur leaned forward. "If what I've heard is true, you've been involved in this op from the beginning, and you've been looking for the keystone, the piece that will lock everything else into place. This could be it."

"You're asking me to take it on faith that everything I need to tie up my investigation is here."

"Everything? No, but I'm assuming that you're a good enough cop not to pass up on this kind of lead just to prove a point."

Rossabi remained skeptical. "I've been at this long enough to know that no one ever just volunteers evidence this damning unless they want something in return. My guess is that you could face treason charges just for removing these files from Langley. So what do you want, Director Campbell? Immunity? Anonymity? A payoff?"

"How about justice?" Arthur replied, smiling knowingly. He leaned back into the sofa cushions. "You're right, of course, I may have committed professional suicide by reading you in. But I've also briefed the Chair of the Senate Intelligence Committee who knows I'm meeting with you and why. She in turn will be informing the President later today. So, while I appreciate your offer, really, all I want from the Bureau is the assurance that you'll use what's in those files to bring whoever is behind this scheme to justice."

Joan broke in. "You can question our motives all you like once this case is done. Right now, as you well know, one of the Agency's top operatives, a decorated U.S. combat veteran, has infiltrated a top-secret, unauthorized psy-ops facility, where he is being held incommunicado at great risk to his personal well-being. I have no doubt that he is accumulating evidence and tracing the source of this intelligence failure. But he is one man, alone and at a considerable disadvantage. Whatever evidence he gathers, no matter how revealing, will be one-sided. The files we've given you contain sufficient information for you to begin drilling down on this from two different directions."

"You can launch a two-pronged attack," Arthur added.

"If this is accurate -"

"It is." Joan said in a tone which left no room for doubt. "I'd stake my career and my reputation on it. In fact, I have done exactly that."

Rossabi ignored her. "If this is accurate, and you can be sure that my team will go over this with a fine-toothed comb, but if it's true, then along with Anderson's testimony, we'll have means, motive, and evidence. A rock-solid case."

Joan turned her hand over and unfolded her fingers, revealing two miniature flash drives.

"More dirt?" Rossabi asked.

"The DCS just gave you a list of names, participants, some willing, most not, in what appears to be an illegal brainwashing program. A program that was supposed to have been shut down in the seventies." She handed Rossabi the first flash drive. "This contains lists of financial transactions. Very large and secretive financial transactions that may be linked to that program." She held out the second drive. "This contains details of CIA special operations going back forty years. These are highly classified, and redacted only to the extent where I am obliged to protect the details of current missions. You'll find that the names of several of the operatives and Special Forces personnel in this list also show up in the file the DCS gave you. Connect the dots, Special Agent Rossabi. Cross-reference the three lists against each other. What are the commonalities? Who has the most to lose?"

"I know how to do my job." Rossabi snapped. "How long have you been sitting on this? Why have you decided to give this to me now, after all these weeks of stalling?"

"To answer your first question," Joan began, "this evidence came into my hands forty-eight hours ago. You might have received it earlier, but I had to verify its authenticity. As for your second question, Captain Anderson has been out of contact since he was taken from his Pentagon office two weeks ago. We have an idea of the general area where he's being held, but no specifics. While I could have my financial analysts follow the money lead, there is a clear conflict of interest in having the CIA investigate our own."

"No one just hands over this kind of evidence without looking for something in exchange."

Joan sensed Arthur's temper flaring. She stepped in before he could say anything. "Special Agent Rossabi, we are very much alike, you and I. More so, I suspect, than either of us would care to admit. The bottom line is that we have both devoted our lives to protecting America and her people. We've both seen how even the most noble causes can be corrupted by weakness, greed and ambition. Like you, I have seen unscrupulous behavior all around me, but I have fought to surround myself with men and women of integrity, true patriots for whom the interests of this nation and her people have always come first. I will do anything to ensure their safety, and to make certain that their service and sacrifices are not cheapened or sullied by the actions of a few evil men.

"You asked Director Campbell what he wants in exchange for all of this? What I'd like is a little respect for the people who serve in the shadows and shun recognition. A little discretion would be nice, too. But if neither of those are possible, then the promise that when all this hits the fan, the Bureau will acknowledge the Agency's part in bringing the wrongdoers to justice. That's what I want. "

* * *

><p>"Venti, sugar-free, gingerbread soy latte for you," Stu said, setting down the concoction by Annie's keyboard. "And a Green-goddess salad, sans peanuts."<p>

"Thanks, Stu." Annie smiled, then turned back to the stack of Belarussian newspapers she'd been perusing, more to pass the time than in the hope of turning up any actionable leads.

"And for you, Barber," the junior tech continued, "chicken tikka-massala on a kaiser roll, with extra napkins"

Barber grunted his thanks, but kept his attention on his screens.

"What are you working on?"

"Re-routing some satellites for one of the special ops teams on the border. Only, they're exactly not our birds, so it's a little tricky."

Stu looked took a quick glance at the screens. Everything seemed under control. A slow day at the DPD. His own operative was safe on a plane heading back from San Salvador after a routine drop in Central America. The plane was now over the Gulf.

He sat down and unwrapped his own lunch, and that's when he noticed the green light blinking on the laptop on the corner of his desk. He grabbed a pencil, pad and called across the room. "Barber!"

"Give me a minute."

"Barber, you need to see this."

"Hold on."

Stu scribbled furiously.

"What is it?" Barber asked, coming up behind the younger man.

"It's Auggie. That's Auggie's signal. He's checking in."

"I'll take over. You call Joan."

* * *

><p>Dr. Allen looked up from his notes. "Who did you receive your orders from, Captain?"<p>

"General Oubash. He was my CO. We've been over this before."

"And who did he get his orders from?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask him. He just told us what to do, and we did it."

"Without question?"

"I didn't say that. I asked questions when warranted."

"What sort of questions?" Allen probed.

"Operational details, contingency plans, the usual."

"Did you ever defy your orders?"

"Defy them? No. Question them and recommend an alternative course when I felt justified to do so? Yes, once or twice. Look, Doc, we've been over this before. Next you're going to ask me about the Tikrit mission. I'll give the same answers I've given every other time. I don't remember. I sustained a serious TBI. Talking about it day after day isn't going to bring any of it back. You can't jolt my memories back to life, any more than flashing lights at me will turn my eyes back on. Those synapses are blown.

"I can't help you, Captain, if you won't cooperate," Allen sighed.

Auggie remained sullenly silent.

"Orderly," Allen called to the man waiting silently by the door. "Escort Captain Anderson back to his room."

Auggie heard the heavy steps move closer. It was the same man who'd brought him from his room earlier, a tall, slow-moving man who could probably stand to lose a good seventy-five pounds or more. He might seem big and imposing to those who could see him, but Auggie, holding his arm for guidance, had felt the soft and flabby flesh. He'd heard the slight wheeze after they'd climbed two flights of stairs, and the susurrus of pant legs rubbing against each other when the man walked in front of him. And when he'd laid a hand on the man's back, seemingly for balance, Auggie had felt the thick layer of fat rippling over what might once have been a football player's muscled frame.

Auggie rose from his chair and unfolded his cane, and did not resist the orderly's tug on his arm as they left the therapist's office. They'd taken a dozen steps or so when Auggie pulled his arm from the larger man's grip.

"Somethin' wrong, Captain?"

"No. It's just that it's been a while since I walked on my own. Would you mind if I just used my cane?"

"I dunno. I'm not supposed to leave you alone."

"You wouldn't be. You can still walk right beside me, just without my holding on, that's all." He held up his cane. "If I don't use this, I fall out of practice. And if I don't keep my skills sharp... well, that's how blind people end up getting run over by buses."

He heard the other man hesitate. "Come on, how much trouble can I get into? it's not as if I could ever find my way out of here," he reasoned, and waved his free hand in front of his eyes for emphasis.

"I guess as long as I'm with you..."

"That's the spirit," Auggie grinned, and began making his way down the corridor, trailing his hand along the wall and sweeping his cane before him

* * *

><p>"Sir, Allen says he's still not making any progress. He is firmly convinced that Anderson doesn't... can't remember anything, and that we should move on to a more therapeutic course of treatment."<p>

Henry Wilcox ground his teeth in annoyance at the voice on the phone. He looked out the window, and swept his gaze across the broad expanse of lawn, past the fringe of trees, their branches bare and reaching skyward like thin black-gloved fingers in the cold December dusk, then past the colonnade and the empty terrace, down the slope where it paused at the water's edge, to the Potomac, a band of rippling quicksilver that shimmered beneath the pale moon. There had been a time, not so long ago, when his adversaries had threatened to take all this away, heedless of his long years of service.

Sir? Are you there?"

He glanced again at the summons on his desk. Five days. Five days from now, his exile would be over. He'd be testifying before the Senate's confirmation committee. All loose ends would be tied up. Promises kept. Assurances extracted from those who owed him and from those who couldn't afford to cross Henry Wilcox.

"Sir?"

"I'm here, Tomacek. What do you want?"

"Sir, what are your orders?

Henry's gaze returned to his desk, and to the summons lying on the blotter. "Read Allen in. Tell him who Anderson really is. Tell him what he did and who he worked for before moving into that cushy Pentagon office. Authorize him... no, order him to use whatever means necessary to find out exactly what he knew about those Middle East ops. Do you read me? Any means necessary.

"Yes, sir. And then?"

"And then? Find out what Anderson knows, then silence them both."

* * *

><p>"What do you have?" Joan asked, striding into Tech Ops.<p>

Annie replied at once. "Auggie checked in about fifteen minutes ago. The signal was relayed through our Denver station."

"So he's somewhere in Colorado. What did he have to say?"

Barber shrugged. "It's in code. We're still working on it. But it's good, right? It means he's okay, right?"

"That's what we're hoping. Get on that code. We need to sort it out before his next transmission. Annie, a word in my office."

Annie followed her boss, and took a seat on the office couch. Joan began pacing before her.

"This is it," Joan said. "As soon as we pinpoint the origin of Auggie's message, you need to get on a plane out there."

"You want me to rescue Auggie?" Annie asked, surprised.

"No. We'll have a Special Ops extraction team on stand-by. I need you to get inside and reconnoiter the site. Find out where they're holding Auggie, and if there are any others. You need to get inside. Use the cover Auggie prepared for you, or create one of your own. I'm trusting you to do what it takes to get us the information we need to get Auggie and the others out safely.

"When do I leave?"

"You'll be traveling with the extraction team. I'll have a driver at your place at 0500 to take you to Andrews. And Annie, think Nikes not Louboutins."

* * *

><p>"He's CIA?" Allen asked incredulously. "His file, the old one, says he works for the Pentagon."<p>

Tomacek handed Allen a file labelled "Top Secret". "That's his cover. He'd only been working there for a couple of weeks before he was sent here. He was recruited for the CIA while he was in college. He's been with them ever since."

"And his time in the Army, that's just a story?"

"No, that's true," Tomacek said, annoyed. What was it with these civilians? He continued in a tone he might use with a two-year-old. "He was with the Army, but he was also a special CIA operative embedded with a Special Forces unit. He was with them on a CIA mission to neutralize a top Al-Qaeda leader when he was blinded."

Dr. Allen tossed the new file on the desk. "Okay, fine, he's CIA. I still don't see how this changes his treatment plan?"

"Anderson was one of the CIA's top operatives. He was a Special Forces trained officer. He is a world class liar and a master of deception. You say he doesn't remember what happened on his final mission? I would argue that he does and that he's playing you to protect his secrets and is just waiting to get even with the agency that sent him on that mission."

"Fine, but who are we supposed to be helping here, Captain Anderson or your superiors?"

"You can help both, Dr. Allen. You can help Anderson and others like him come to terms with what they experienced, while at the same time making sure that they pose no threat to our nation's security."

"For heaven's sake, Anderson is blind! He's more of a danger to himself than to anyone else."

"Don't let his blindness fool you. He's still a highly capable field operative." Tomacek paused and leaned in closer. In a whisper he added, "After all, can you be sure he hasn't been playing you all along?"

* * *

><p>Ninety-eight...ninety-nine...one-hundred. Auggie lay back against the cold floor while he pretended to catch his breath. If he stayed in this place too long, he just might have to work out a little harder. He turned over, and started a series of push ups. A hundred crunches, a hundred push ups, and another hundred squats. Back in Special Forces, they would have called that a warm-up routine. Ever since gotten back on the job, he'd worked hard to maintain that regimen. But in here, it was best not to let his watchers know just how fit he truly was. Back in the gym at Langley, he'd do twice as much in half the time, and finish with the weights, a session with the heavy bag, or a good long run. He wished he could add a run to his workout here, but running in place only messed with his balance. And considering what it had cost him to get his cane back, he'd probably have surrender the CIA access codes and a sizeable chunk of his sanity to secure some treadmill time.<p>

He wondered if his team had received his message, and if they had deciphered his code? He wanted to be able to send them something more substantive in his next transmission. Now that he had his cane he would try to persuade his watchers to allow him a little more freedom of movement. The heavy-set guy who'd been his guide today seemed malleable enough. If he could manage it, he'd explore and get a better feel for the place, figure out how many people were being kept here. For now, however, he would build his strength, consider his options, and rest until the next time they came for him.

* * *

><p>The Friday night crowd at Allen's Tavern was the usual lively mix of government workers, students, and neighborhood regulars. Annie, Barber and Stu sat at their usual table, people watching, nursing their beers, and picking at remnants of their meals.<p>

Across the room, Jai was playing darts against a guy wearing an British Airways polo shirt, but who, Annie knew, was actually with MI-6. At the bar, an analyst she had occasionally chatted with in the coffee line briefly caught her gaze then pretended not to know her. He returned to the animated conversation he was having with a State Department courrier Annie had met while filing paperwork for her Smithsonian NOC. She wondered if the woman really was a courier. In this town, everyone it seemed had a secret identity.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Barber noted.

"Just thinking," she replied.

"Well, stop doing that. Sometimes you just need to clear your mind, take a few steps away from the problem, give your subconscious time to work on it. Leave it and enjoy your beer," he said, reaching for her fries.

She shoved the basket across the table. "It's just... It seems like I'm so close..."

"Give it a break. Right, Stu?" The younger tech was scribbling notes on a napkin. "Jesus, not you, too?"

"What've you got? Annie asked.

Stu grunted, scribbling away furiously, between the remnants of their meal. He seemed caught up in his calculations, then suddenly groaned in frustration and shoved the napkin towards Annie. She briefly studied the intricate formulae. This was Greek to her. Tougher. Greek was actually a lot easier. She cast the former math major a puzzled glance. "Sorry, no hablo nerd."

Stu shook his head. "I was thinking it might be an encryption based on a sequence of complex permutations. Like this combination that keeps coming up _zero, two, three, four _and _six. _I took the three sets of numbers he sent and tried to figure out the pattern. So if 1 stands for _a, _and 2 for -"

Annie slapped her hand down on the napkin. "It didn't work?"

Stu sighed, defeated. "It didn't work."

Barber pulled a lighter from his pocket. "Stuart?"

The younger man held the napkin by a corner as long as he could then dropped it in the empty fajita pan where it continued to burn until it was reduced to ash.

"Maybe Auggie overestimated our abilities," Barber conceded. "The guy's freaky smart, and sometimes, he forgets about how us lesser mortals -"

Annie shook her head. "Auggie set up that relay so that the message would come to us. If it had been something beyond our ability to figure out, he'd have sent it straight to Joan or Marty."

Stu looked up. "He sent it to us. To you, me, and Annie. Obviously, he knew that there would be something to that code that we would recognize. We got the technical part figured out. The rest, the code itself, maybe that's something for Annie... something that doesn't require a high degree of technological know-how."

"Hey!"

"You know what I mean. Eric and I are computer geeks. Logically, we should have figured this thing out, but we didn't. What do you know, that we don't know?"

"She's a field operative," Barber suggested.

Annie shrugged. "I don't see how that helps."

"Could it be the dates of ops, case numbers?" Stu offered.

"I checked. Nothing matches. It's just random sets of numbers."

"What else does she know?" Stu asked Barber.

"Hello, _she_ is right here," Annie bristled.

Barber ignored her. "Well, she does speak a couple of dozen languages."

"Not that many. Only ten or so."

"Just ten or so. Sheesh! And Auggie speaks what, four... five?"

"Five," Annie answered, plus ASL. "But I checked. It's none of those either."

"ASL?" Stu asked.

"American Sign Language," Annie replied. "He learned it in high school, when he was working on his Eagle Scout project."

"Some good that must do him," Barber snorted. "Kind of a one-way conversation, unless the deaf guy knows how to sign in Braille."

Annie's eyes grew wide. "Whoa, Eric! What did you just say?"

"I said, that unless the guy knows how to sign in Braille..."

Annie jumped up, and threw some bills on the table.

Barber grabbed her arm. "It was just a dumb joke, Annie. I didn't mean anything."

"C'mon, finish your beers guys."

"What?"

"Drink up. We've got to head back to Langley."

* * *

><p>Auggie was deep in thought, considering the risks and benefits of different courses of action when the heavy tread of steps drew him from his musings. Was it morning already?<p>

The steps paused briefly outside the door. He heard the tumbler turn in the lock, and in an instant the door flew open.

"On your feet, Anderson! Let's go!"

Auggie grabbed his cane and pushed himself up from the floor. "Okay, where are we going?" he asked mildly.

His only answer was an iron-hard grip fastening on his shoulder and shoving him into the hallway. He shook out his cane, and put up a semblance of a struggle while his mind raced through his options. He felt a sharp jab in his neck. "Not again," he managed to mumble before his legs gave out and the world disappeared.

* * *

><p>"It's Braille!" Annie explained back in Tech Ops. The DPD was unusually quiet, with only a skeleton crew working the evening shift, and a solitary custodial workers emptying trash bins and scraping a squeegee down the double glass doors.<p>

"I don't get it," Stu complained. "How can he send a Braille message in Morse code?"

"How come you know Braille?" Barber asked.

"Auggie thought it was something I should know. It's no big deal. It's just another alphabet."

Joan strode in. "The code?"

"Right. Braille letters are based on a system of six dots in a cell. Each dot is numbered. The left-hand column dots are one, two, and three. The right-hand column, four, five, and six. From then it's easy just to spell out the numbers."

"I still don't get it," Stu complained. "This still doesn't spell out anything."

"Not in English, it doesn't. He sent us his message in Turkish."

A smile spread across Joan's features. "Auggie spent two years working out of the Istanbul station. He speaks Turkish like a native."

"So what does the message say?" Barber asked. All eyes were on Annie as she transcribed the Turkish numbers to Braille, then translated. "It's the standard check-in code," she said.

Joan nodded. "He's well. That's the best news I've had in weeks. Good work! All of you go home. Annie, go home. Get packed. Be ready to leave for Colorado with the extraction team in a few hours."

Joan watched silently as Annie shut down her computer and headed for the exit. Well, at least that was one piece of the puzzle solved. She turned and surveyed her department, considering whether it was worth driving all the way home for a few short hours, or whether she should just stretch out on the couch in her office.

Joan looked over her department, and noticed the abandoned custodial cart by the door. "Barber, wasn't there someone washing the glass doors a moment ago?"

"Yeah, weird too, 'cause they just did them this afternoon. Where'd he go?"

Joan pulled out her phone. "Security? This is Joan Campbell. Shut down the building, we have a suspected breach."

* * *

><p>Ross raced down to gym's changing room. He quickly peered around the row of metal lockers, but at this late hour, the gym and changing rooms were empty. He quickly changed out of the blue janitorial service shirt he'd been wearing, into a crisp white shirt and tie, clipped a holster to the back of his belt, then slipped on a sports coat, clipped his I.D. badge to his breast pocket, and stuffed the custodial shirt in a hamper. He ran a comb through his thinning hair, and made his way towards the exit. The anonymous janitor was gone. An equally anonymous staffer might have been spotted leaving the gym, but even at CIA headquarters, people saw what they expected to see.<p>

He strode purposefully across the CIA seal, into the lobby where guards stood by the doors cradling assault rifles, their gazes sweeping the wide plaza before the entrance. Other guards could be seen rushing into the parking lot. As casually as he could, he strolled up to the security desk by the turnstiles. "What's going on?"

"Possible breach on the second floor. No one's allowed in or out."

"Come on, it's my kid's piano recital tonight."

"Sorry, no one comes or goes."

"Guess I'd better plan on crashing here then," he said, and headed towards the elevators. He pressed the buttons but the elevators didn't respond. Shit! Time for Plan B.

The stairs were empty, so he made his way back towards the gym, hoping he looked like any staffer trying to fit in a late-night workout before heading home.

He shoved the bar on the emergency door. At once, the alarm began to blast out its warnings. He took off at a run, heading for woods surrounding Langley. He made it to the tree line, just as the parking lot lights blazed to life. Once in relative safety, he reached into his pocket, and hit the first number on his speed dial.

"Ross, do you have any idea what time it is?" Henry Wilcox answered after several rings. "This had better be damned good."

"I think they figured out where we're holding Anderson. I overheard Joan Campbell say they had an extraction team headed out to Colorado."

"Did they make you?"

"Yeah, I think so. I got out, though. I was right by Tech Ops when they were talking about it. They were talking about some code. That's when she told Walker to get ready to go to Colorado with an extraction unit."

"Are you sure they said Colorado?"

"That's what caught my attention, sir. That is where Anderson and the others are being held, isn't it?"

"Where are you now, Ross?"

"I'm in the woods, sir, and the building is sealed off. Where should I go?"

Henry paused for a moment. "Make your way to the auditorium," he said at length, "I'll have a car waiting."

"But, sir, that's all the way on the other side of the facility," Ross pleaded. "Sir? Sir?"

But the line was dead.

He turned around to gauge his best route over to the auditorium, but froze at the sound of a snapping branch. He dropped the phone and slowly reached for the Glock at his back. He turned around, and was suddenly blinded by the brilliance of a half-dozen beams of light all turned on at once.

"Drop the gun. Put your hands up where we can see them."

* * *

><p>Dr. Richard Allen studied his sedated patient on the gurney, and the array of vials and syringes on the cart at this side.<p>

"Get on with it!" Tomacek ordered.

He no longer deceived himself. He knew he had violated the Hippocratic Oath in more ways than he could count. He'd let his ego get in the way of medicine. This wasn't about researching the outcomes of new PTSD treatments, he thought as he attached electrodes to Anderson's chest. This wasn't about the patients at all.

He turned on the monitors then surveyed the potent selection of drugs lined up on the cart. Almost made one yearn for the good old days of electroshock or waterboarding. At least those prisoners knew what they were up against. If August Anderson was truly the man Tomacek said he was, Allen suspected he would be able to resist even the most brutal of torture.

But this way, there was no chance for honor here. Anderson didn't stand a chance. He ran his hands over the labels. These were powerful chemicals, each carrying its own set of risks. Used alone they were potent, in combination they could be deadly. Anderson, for all that he was fit and seemingly healthy had survived a serious brain injury. Who knew what effect these drugs would have on his damaged brain. How much to administer to give Tomacek what he wanted without risking Anderson's life... or his own.

"Start with this one," Tomacek said, shoving a vial and syringe at the doctor.

Allen read the label, drew a deep breath, and carefully measured out a dose. Then he took another syringe and drew from a second vial. He checked the life support equipment in the room, the defibrillator, and the oxygen regulator. "I'm ready."

He reached for Anderson's arm and found a vein. Slowly, carefully, he injected first one chemical and then the other. The beeping of the pulse monitor remained steady.

"Now wake him up."

"What?!"

Tomacek scanned the labels, and grabbed an unopened bottle. "Give him a shot of this to wake him up!"

"But that might be too much for his system to handle at once," Allen protested.

"If you don't do it, I will."

Allen whispered a prayer beneath his breath, and he injected the third chemical into his patient.

At once, Auggie began to shake, then convulse uncontrollably. His sightless eyes flew open and he began gasping for breath. The monitor's beeping grew rapid and shrill.

"Give him oxygen," Tomacek barked.

Allen adjusted an oxygen cannula. "He'd be better off with a mask." He leaned close to Anderson's ear and whispered, "Be strong," and squeezed the man's arm. Anderson whimpered and gripped his wrist in a vise-like hold.

"No mask. We need to hear what he has to say."

After a few interminable minutes, Anderson's pulse resumed a more normal rhythm. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. His gaze was glassy and completely unfocused.

* * *

><p>Joan stepped into the viewing room. "So Ross is involved, too. What do we have on him, Leo?"<p>

"Nothing much yet. Security confiscated his phone. We'll know more after Marty finishes running the SIM card. He claims to have been trying to find a way to make it home for his kid's piano recital."

"By evading a lockdown and pulling a gun on the security guards. His kid must be the next Vladimir Horowitz!"

"There's no kid and no recital. I'll know more after our little chat. Anything in particular you want me to find out, Joan?"

"Find out who he's working for."

"That's all?"

"It's a start," she said. "But when you're done, I'd like to have a little conversation with him."

* * *

><p>The sensation of falling jolted Auggie awake. He reached out for something to hold on to, something to break his fall, but his hands were bound and he could feel himself flying through the air, faster... faster... spinning out of control. The blast of air was burning his skin, and a screaming wind rushed past his ears. He braced himself as best he could for the inevitable impact. Not again, dear Lord, not again!<p>

The crash never came. He gulped at the air. His skin was on fire, a cloud of dust and smoke consuming his body. He wanted to beat the flames away but he couldn't see them and his hands were tied.

Counting slowly, he forced himself to take slow, steadying breaths. One...two...three in...three...two... one out. Again. One...two..three. Someone was pressing something to his nose. And then, suddenly, clean, sweet air flooded his lungs.

"Stay strong," a voice urged from far away, and a hand squeezed his wrist, pressing through the burning flesh. He wanted to scream, but couldn't spare the breath, and could only whimper. Instead he gripped the arm, as if it were the only object to slow his fall.

"August..."

He stretched his fingers, reaching out. Looking around, but he couldn't see who was calling. No, that was impossible. He couldn't.

"August..." A noise... a voice pierced through the noise.

"Wha..."

"August... I need to ask you some questions."

"Hurt... can't... burning." A beeping in the background grew louder until it roared past his muddled senses and beat at his fragile skull.

"August... who sent you on this mission?"

"Mission failed... epic fail... hurt... blind...wanna sleep... sleep."

"August, who sent you to Tikrit?"

"Langley ... orders."

"Who gave the order?"

"Hurt... burning... on fire!"

The voice grew more insistent, "I can give you something to calm the pain. Just answer my question. Who gave the order?"

"Oubash."

"And who gave him his orders?"

"Wilcox. Henry Wilcox."

_To be continued._


	18. The Qualiy of Mercy

_Thank you all so much for your reviews, your alerts and follows. Work and family have run me ragged since my last update, and I haven't had time to thank you all personally, but please know that your reviews and alerts mean the world to me. Thanks to the anonymous lurker readers, too. I'm truly grateful to each and every one who is taking the time to read this story._

_Whatever medical errors there may be are all my own. Please set me straight if you're in the healthcare field._

_The title of this chapter is borrowed from Shakespeare's __The Merchant of Venice__. _

_I've given this a once over, but will proofread it more thoroughly after a couple of days' worth of distance. This is a long chapter, so grab your favorite libation, settle into a comfy chair, and enjoy!_

**Chapter 17 - The Quality of Mercy **

Dr. Richard Allen watched from the corner of the room as Tomacek continued his interrogation. As a therapist, Allen had used a lot of different methods to get veterans to move beyond the trauma of their wartime experiences, but never had he ever even considered restorting to anything like this.

He'd had his doubts about this Tomacek guy from the start; doubts about this whole program, if he were to be truly honest with himself. The opportunity, however, had been too tempting to pass up, with good money and, more importantly, a chance to conduct his research without the usual bureaucratic meddling. But Tomacek's treatment of Captain Anderson... well, it was just plain wrong. How could there be any therapeutic value in inflicting pain and deprivation on a man who had endured so much already?

"I can give you something to calm the pain," Tomacek said soothingly. "Just answer my question. Who gave the order?"

"Oubash."

"And who gave him his orders?"

"Wilcox... Henry Wilcox."

Allen turned to Tomacek. "Who is Henry Wilcox? I don't recognize the name."

"Nobody you need to know about. It's best for you to forget anything you hear in here." Tomacek replied, shifting his gaze from the man strapped to the table to the doctor administering the drugs then back again. "Who else knew?" he asked, and gripped Anderson's shoulder digging his fingers into a faded scar.

Anderson gasped. "Just me an' Oubash. Please... hurts..."

"Let me give him something against the pain," Allen said.

"Back off!" Tomacek snarled. Allen retreated to the corner. "Who else did you tell? Who in your unit knew?" He pressed his nails deeper into the scar.

Anderson groaned. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. "Nobody. There were no others."

Tomacek turned to Allen. "Give him another dose. He's holding back."

"That's impossible! This breaks down inhibitions, barriers... Another injection could suppress his vital functions and send him into cardiac arrest! "

"Give him another shot, or I'll do it myself."

Allen looked for a way out. Finding none, he slowly drew the barbiturate into the syringe. Anderson already had close to the maximum dose of the drug coursing through his system, coupled with a strong dose of pure caffeine to keep him conscious. Any more could kill him. Allen decide to play for time. "Let me give him something against the pain instead. It might relax him enough to start talking again. You promised him something for the pain."

"There is no pain," Tomacek replied. "The drug has a hypnotic effect. It's all suggestion, memory. There's nothing physical."

"Maybe so, but he doesn't know that. It's real to him!"

"Yeah, well where I come from we call that weakness. Now give him the shot or I will." Tomacek wrested the syringe from the psychiatrist's hand. He lined up the needle with Auggie's carotid artery.

"No! Don't. Not there, it'll kill him. I'll do it!"

"Then do it!"

Allen moved closer, and found a vein. "I'm sorry, Captain Anderson," he whispered, "forgive me," and he slowly pressed the plunger.

* * *

><p>"God damn it!" Rossabi growled and slammed his hand against the table.<p>

Joan ceased her pacing and watched through the one-way mirror as the dark-haired agent threw his hands in the air, and cast Ross a look of pure contempt. She resumed her thoughtful circuit of the darkened observation room. Ross hadn't said a word since security had dragged him in, but his countenance spoke volumes. He'd remained silent while Leo hooked him up to the polygraph. He hadn't responded in the short time she'd been able to question him. And he hadn't uttered a single word since Rossabi had taken over the interrogation.

He just sat there,silent, sweating like a pig, his eyes darting nervously about the room as if he were expecting someone to come to his rescue. He was either a novice and petrified - justly - of the consequences of his actions, or the best actor she'd ever seen.

His gaze returned to the phone set just beyond the reach of his cuffed hands. It was identical to the one that had been found behind Annie's desk. Joan had lost count of the number of times she'd caught him stealing glances at it. Was that an act? Did he suspect it might be a duplicate? Was he looking for a tell they'd missed?

Did Rossabi suspect? Joan had every intention of surrendering the original to the Bureau as soon as Marty verified that it contained no actionable intel. There were limits to inter-agency cooperation, after all.

Three hours had passed since Ross had been apprehended. The possibility still existed that Marty's team would find something of value, but Joan had been in this game too long to get her hopes up. Even if the phone contained useful data, she was willing to bet, dollars to donuts, that it would just lead down another blind alley, to another burn phone tossed in a dumpster somewhere or resting at the bottom of the Potomac. Whoever was running Ross was too cunning to be undone by something as simple as a phone trace.

And why Ross? It didn't make sense, not if he truly was an analyst, and not a deep cover operative. He hadn't had any training in evasion or dissimulation. If he was a deep cover operative, then who was running him? She had her suspicions, but she'd need to uncover rock-solid evidence damn soon to prove it.

This, however, was the Bureau's investigation, she reminded herself, and out of her hands. It wasn't that she didn't trust Hoover. She was sure they were perfectly capable. Even so, Ross had been spying on her division. it was her operatives who were in the field. It was their safety that was at stake. And even if Rossabi seemed impatient to resolve this matter, the Bureau had a reputation for wrapping their investigations in innumerable layers of red tape. Their investigations dragged on for months... years sometimes! And all that time, traitors and terrorists were targeting her operatives!

She turned to the man behind the bank of monitors. "Leo, what are the biometrics telling us?"

"He's nervous, scared. Nothing we can't tell just by looking at the guy."

She moved closer to the window and studied the ordinary-looking man who sat cuffed on the other side. Nothing in his appearance, not a thing, she thought with grim humor, would ever have marked him as a spy.

He was of average height and build with thinning sandy brown hair and bland features. He was perfectly unremarkable in every way. Unlike Arthur, Jai, or Auggie, there was no hint of James Bond about him, no underlying current of danger. He seemed meek, unassuming, harmless. The perfect plant.

Joan glanced again at the file in her hand. He was born and raised in Eugene, Oregon and enlisted in the Navy straight out of high school. He'd had a shipboard accident and received a medical discharge two years into his enlistment. He attended the University of Oregon and been working for the Agency since ninety-four, first as an analyst on the South American desk then various mid-level positions across the Agency. He'd had a number of small promotions early in his career, but hit a sudden stall ten years ago. He had moved horizontally across departments, but never changed his pay grade. Why? His file was suspiciously silent on the matter.

The door opened. "Anything?" Arthur asked.

She shook her head. "Not a word, except to ask for an outside lawyer."

"We could find someone to pose as one."

"And Rossabi would agree, you think? Besides any evidence obtained under false premises would be inadmissible in court. You know that."

"It might not reach the courts."

"Arthur, when the media get wind of this, the public will hold the CIA accountable for what happened to those troops, regardless of who actually called the shots. Our reputations are on the wire, and we could be facing treason charges if this goes sideways.

"I won't let it come to that. I'll take the fall, if it looks like the wind is blowing that way. I won't allow both of our careers to be derailed by this."

"Our careers, Arthur? We'll be lucky to escape with our reputations intact, and that's if we collaborate fully with the Bureau. We do not need to add entrapment to the laundry list of charges they'll be laying at our door."

Arthur sighed. "It is tempting, though." He nodded towards the glass. "Any progress, Leo?"

"No, sir. He's not talking." Joan looked again through the glass. Rossabi stood in the far corner, glaring at his suspect. Ross sat, tight-lipped and sulking. This was going nowhere. She closed the file and crossed the room.

"Where are you going? Aren't you watching this?" Arthur asked.

Joan turned, her hand on the doorknob. "There's nothing to see. They're at a stalemate. I'm going back in. One way or another, we're going to get some answers."

* * *

><p>Annie stepped out of the limo and slung her pack over her shoulder.<p>

"Annie Walker?" A tall, broad-shouldered man came striding across the tarmac towards her. She set her pack down by her feet, and held out her hand.

He gave her hand a firm shake. "Captain Cameron, at your service." He reached for her pack. "Is this all you have, Miss Walker?"

"I was told to pack lightly." She studied her escort's features for a moment. "I know you. You were at the hotel in Vermont. You're Auggie's friend Curtis. You guys served together in Iraq."

Her escort's face broke into a wide grin. "Well, Miss Walker, I should have known Auggie's girlfriend would be more than just a pretty face."

"Uh... I'm not Auggie's girlfriend," she said. "We just work together."

"Well," he drawled, "if you'll pardon my saying, Auggie's even blinder than I thought if he hasn't asked you out yet."

Annie laughed. "Tell me, Captain Cameron, do all Special Forces guys turn on the charm as easily as you and Auggie do? Does that come naturally, or is that some kind of secret Special Forces training?"

"That's need-to-know, Miss Walker," he said with a wink, and stepped back to let her up the stairs first.

Four other team members were already on the plane, buckled into their seats, and reading files, looking like a group of executives on a business trip. A group of young, and very fit executives.

The men looked up from their files when Annie entered. One man she recognized from Danny's funeral, but the other three were strangers. Curtis introduced his team.

"If you recognized me, you'll remember Lieutenant Graham Cooper from that same weekend." Graham gave a nod. "He's our comm guy. He'll be in charge of disabling their communications network, as well as establishing and maintaining contact with Langley via secure link. Sergeants Scott and Davis are our weapons experts. If it can be fired, shot, tripped, thrown or blown up, they're the go-to guys. We can all shoot, and you'll hear plenty of trash talk, but the truth is, I've never seen either of those two guys ever miss a shot. I've seen them hit a target from two miles away."

"That was my shot." Scott grinned and stood, reaching out his hand in greeting. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"He might hold the record on the rifle range, but when actual bad guys are shooting back..."

Curtis broke in. "Time and place, Davis."

"Yes, Sir. Pleased to meet you, Miss."

"The quiet guy at the back, Flynn, he's our medic. Everyone calls him Doc."

"He's a squid," Davis broke in, "but we try not to hold that against him."

Cameron shot him a look of mild annoyance and continued. "Doc was with a SEAL unit before joining us. If it has a pulse he can fix it. The guys say he can get a plate of fried chicken up and clucking so long as we keep out of his way and let him do his job. There was this time in Waziristan, this old Pashtun guy and his grandkids brought in the family goat. The poor thing had been hit by a truck, and was in a pretty bad way. The grandfather was going on and on, the kids were wailing, and I was already drawing my sidearm figuring the humane thing was to put the poor creature out of its suffering. Our translator stops me saying that goat's the family's livelihood. Doc spent the day working on it, and damn if it's not back on its feet, and with a kid trotting at its side the next time we drive through."

"Winning hearts and minds, Captain?" Annie said with a smile.

"One goat at a time, Miss Walker."

Annie grinned then looked around the plane and frowned. "Where's your sixth member? I thought Special Ops teams always went out in teams of six."

Cameron looked at her gravely, removed his cap, and ran a hand over his closely-cropped blond hair. "Walker, you're our number six."

* * *

><p>Tomacek was losing patience. Anderson was becoming harder to rouse. "Why did you think it was a setup?"<p>

"Not...not same..." Auggie answered groggily. His glassy gaze wandered erratically until his breathing slowed and his eyes closed.

"Wake up, Anderson!" Tomacek barked, and slapped Auggie's cheek. Auggie's eyes opened slowly. "Not the same what?"

"Terror deck... different guy in my deck."

"How did you know?" Auggie didn't answer. Tomacek shook him. "How did you know?"

"Photographic memory," he answered without opening his eyes , and gave a quiet chuckle before relaxing into sleep again.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Anderson? "Who was your target? What was his name?" This time, Auggie didn't answer. He repeated the question and shook his shoulders, but Auggie gave no response. Tomacek turned on Dr. Allen. "Why isn't he answering?"

Allen didn't answer. He studied the vials lined up on the cart. So many possible interractions. So many ways this could go wrong. He picked up the first one he'd used, and checked the label for some counter indication he might have missed earlier. "Amobarbital is a sedative," he said, setting the bottle back in its place. "Anderson's had almost twice the recommended therapeutic dose. He's slipping into a deeper level of sedation." He moved over to the patient's side, expecting Tomacek to push him away, but this time, the interrogator didn't interfere.

He checked the monitors, and released a long, slow breath. Anderson's vitals had dropped from their earlier spike and were stable for now. As long as nothing was added to the cocktail of drugs coursing through the man's veins... "He's okay. He just needs time for the sedative to work its way out of his system."

"Okay, then. Wake him up!"

"No." Allen squared his shoulders. "It's too dangerous. I won't do it. And I won't let you do it either."

"What the fuck?"

"I let my ambition cloud my judgment," Allen continued. "I've done this patient enough harm. I've violated my oath as a physician. I refuse to inflict any more harm on this man."

With surprising speed, Tomacek spun 'round, bringing his revolver against Allen's chest. "I would urge you to reconsider that decision, Dr. Allen. " Without shifting his gaze or lowering the gun, he reached out his free hand and scooped up several of the glass vials. "You see, Dr. Allen," he continued, "I have no qualms about killing you. The way I see it, I'd be doing the medical profession a huge favor, and saving the American taxpayer the expense of your treason trial. I can figure out a way to administer the drugs myself, though I'm sure you can appreciate how easy it would be for someone with no medical training to get the dosage mixed up, to inject the drugs into an artery instead of a vein. There are just so many ways this whole thing could go tragically wrong."

Allen fought the sick feeling rising in his throat. "Fine," he sighed. "You win." He knew his career was over. But until he was hauled before the medical board, he could try to make amends. "Give me the vials."

Tomacek handed them over. Allen pretended to study them closely, then filled and capped several syringes.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm doing what you asked," he answered, slipping the syringes into his lab coat pocket. "I'm just trying to plan for every possible contingency."

"What's that?" he asked as Allen filled a syringe from a new vial. He replaced the safety cap, and placed that syringe too in a pocket of his lab coat.

"Epinephrine... adrenaline, in case our patient goes into cardiac arrest."

He moved over to Auggie, and searched for a vein. "I'm going to give him another shot of caffeine. It should rouse him enough to let you continue questioning him."

"Not too close. I don't want you trying anything funny."

"I can't do this from across the room. Anderson isn't a dartboard. If you want me to wake him up, then let me do my job." He gave the injection.

Tomacek looked at the clock. "How long before he talks?"

Allen checked the vial then checked his watch. He hoped to God this would work, and that Anderson would wake quietly. "Fifteen minutes or so. Twenty minutes tops. You need to wait until the sedation wears off enough for the stimulant to take effect. If you want your answers, you need to wait a while."

* * *

><p>Rossabi leaned against the door of the interview room. "You have no authority to interrogate this perp. My case. My rules."<p>

Joan smiled benignly. "We've tag-teamed before. The Brambles affair? The mix-up with Mossad?"

Rossabi snorted. "Yeah, and as I recall, your operative was never held to account for either of those fiascos."

"No formal charges were ever brought, true. We tend to keep internal discipline issues, well... internal. Still, in the end, as I recall, both cases in which we collaborated proved to the Bureau's benefit as well as to our own. Win-wins for both our agencies. You got some solid leads on illegal arms trafficking, and we got some actionable intel on Russian missile guidance systems. Now, Special Agent Rossabi, you can go back in there and glare at your suspect. But he's asked for a lawyer. He's not going to tell you anything you can use in court.

Rossabi made no reply.

"If you want to get anywhere with this investigation, like it or not, I'm your only option."

Rossabi gave a skeptical shrug. "Be my guest, but first, tell me where he fits in. He's not on the list your people gave me."

"He's someone's mole, but we don't know whose. He's an analyst, but he's been moonlighting as it were as a custodian. That gave him access to various CIA departments, where he could watch and report on the comings and goings. But whether or not he's directly involved in this affair, I can't say."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both. We don't know who's giving him his orders, or who he reports to."

Rossabi moved away from the door. "I go in with you. Whatever he says, I want to hear. No spook double-talk."

"Of course. Besides, this is all being recorded, I believe?"

"Yeah, I know about your jamming devices."

"I can assure you, I'm not carrying any tech devices whatsoever." Rossabi sneered. As if spy assurances carried any weight. Joan turned around, arms out at her sides. "Would you care to frisk me, Special Agent Rossabi?"

* * *

><p>The flight was quiet, punctuated only by a few quiet snores. It always amazed Annie how soldiers could ward off the adrenaline of the pending mission and fall asleep at the drop of a hat.<p>

"So," Annie asked Cameron, "have you known Auggie long?"

"We met during our SERE training. We were on opposing teams. Auggie creeps in one night, covered in mud and God-knows-what-else, sneaking in right under my sentries' noses. He'd come to persuade me that we should join forces."

"Did it work?"

He didn't answer at once, but a slow smile crept over his features. "Almost," he replied. "He can be pretty persuasive. He was damn good."

"He still is."

Cameron pursed his lips and relaxed into his seat. "Tell me, Annie, have you ever served?"

"Depends on how you define service."

"I mean before joining the CIA."

"No. But I was an Army brat. My dad was infantry, my mother, an army nurse. I've been around soldiers all my life."

"But you don't know what it's like to bear the responsibility for a unit. To bear the burden of guilt when you've lost a man."

Annie shook her head. "I've carried the weight of a blown mission. I've lost assets. I know what it's like to feel responsible for putting people in harm's way."

Her companion made a thoughtful noise and continued. "Then you know that a man's reputation is his only currency of value. There was a lot of talk when Auggie was embedded in that Ranger unit with that big ol'Special Forces tattoo on his back."

"Did they know he was CIA?"

"Danny, Tommy and me were the only ones who knew his secret. There were others who might have suspected, but they never said anything. And he was meticulous about maintaining his cover. There were four of us working for the SAD. We had to be careful. If the unit had been captured and anyone else had known... We never spoke about it. One night, over drinks, he told me he was done with the spying game. Something happened that soured him on the CIA, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself."

Annie knew one of the reasons, but that secret was Auggie's to tell.

"I've been in this game a couple of years longer than he has. There he was, twenty-five years old, didn't look a day over eighteen. A new Captain no one had heard of. Everyone figured he'd bought his way in, but all it took was a couple of successful missions, and guys from all over the base were trying to get assigned to his unit. He was tough and didn't take shit from anyone, but at the same time, he had a reputation for keeping his men out of trouble. He was lucky and that meant everything."

"He was thorough."

"We both know that. But all that mattered to the men was that if he was their officer, they had a better than average chance of getting the job done and going home."

"Until Tikrit."

"Yeah."

Annie wanted to tell him that Auggie had found some closure, but didn't know how much he knew about the mission, it's aftermath or Auggie's part in bringing the traitor to justice. So many secrets littering the ground, turning a friendly talk into a minefield. She eased the conversation towards safer terrain. "What was he like before?" she asked. "When he could see?"

"He was a fuckin' superhero. Captain America," he answered, his voice heavy. "Sorry."

Annie waved off the apology. She was accustomed to military vernacular.

"Folks who didn't know Auggie might have called him reckless. And maybe he was when it came to his own safety, but never when it came to his men. For his unit, he took every reasonable precaution. He was the smartest soldier I ever met, and not just with computers and circuitry. It was like he had this chess game running in his head. Hell, it was a whole chess tournament. He could see all the boards, all the pieces, and map out all the moves ahead of time. I never knew a guy to plan as carefully as he did. When the call came in that his unit had been ambushed, and that he was missing, I half-expected him to single-handedly take down that Al-Qaeda cell and just stroll back into camp with his usual cocksure attitude, and Bin Laden's head in his pack." Cameron fell silent. He looked away, and stared out the aircraft window for a long moment. His eyes were still moist when he met Annie's gaze again. "When I saw him in that field hospital, blind and beat up, God help me, but I wished that he'd been killed along with the rest of his guys. I sure as hell wouldn't have wanted to go on if it had been me."

"He's overcome a lot," Annie said. "Half the time, I forget he can't see. He just does whatever it takes to get the job done."

"That's Auggie, alright." He took a deep breath. "My family has served this country since the days of the Revolutionary War. There were Camerons wearing Blue and Gray in the Civil War. My great-grandfather fell at the Battle of Belleau Wood. My Grandfather served under McArthur at Inchon, and my father was wounded at Khe Sahn. And not a day goes by that I don't honor their memories and their service." He paused and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'll tell you this, without any dishonor to my family, August Anderson was the best and the bravest soldier I've ever known."

"Was?"

Cameron's features grew grim. "I don't doubt his courage, Walker, but there comes a point when a man has to face the facts. He's a great tech op. Saved our asses when Operation Goliath was blown, but Joan Campbell made a bad call this time. She never should have authorized him for this mission."

Annie bristled slightly, ready to defend Auggie, but he silenced her with a gesture. "Not for the reasons you're thinking."

She raised her brows inquisitively. "You know what I'm thinking?"

"I've got a pretty good idea. I know Auggie can take care of himself... to a point. You know, back in Special Forces. He would take on the riskiest part of the mission himself, figuring he had the smarts to stay safe and keep his unit safe too. How do you think he'd feel right now, knowing that he six of his buddies are going into harm's way to get him out? Do you think he would have asked for this mission if he'd known that he'd be putting six more people in danger?"

"I don't know," Annie admitted. "He felt an obligation to Danny. He thought he'd be the only operative in the field on this. Besides, we don't know if he's in danger. He might have everything under control. He was fine when he checked in with Langley yesterday. This might only be a recon and support mission."

"Maybe, but he's been carrying a hell of a lot of misplaced guilt since Tikrit. Who knows what he'd do for a chance at redemption."

"He's not here for redemption." Annie wanted to tell him that Auggie had redeemed himself by bringing in Khani, but she knew that his involvement was deeply compartmentalized. "Auggie would never risk his friends' safety to assuage his own feelings of guilt or failure."

"No? So why the hell is he doing this?"

A chime sounded signaling their imminent descent. Annie glanced out the window, and watched the flaps raise on the wing. She felt the jet's angle shift and saw shreds of cloud drift by the window. As the plane emerged from the clouds she turned back to her companion. "Auggie's doing this because he knows that the battles doesn't always end when the guns stop firing. He wants justice for Danny, but mostly, he's still trying to keep his guys safe."

* * *

><p>Allen hovered by the gurney. Anderson was growing agitated, and his pulse and respiration were beginning to spike as the stimulant was beginning to counteract the strong sedative.<p>

"Is he awake yet?" Tomacek leaned against the far wall, toying with his gun and never taking his eyes off the therapist.

"No, not yet. I only just gave him the shot."

"It's been seven minutes."

"He's got a lot of drugs in his system." He checked his watch again and dug a hand into the pocket of his lab coat, feeling the comforting touch of the syringes he'd filled. He moved around to the opposite side of the gurney, keeping his back turned to the interrogator.

Anderson groaned and struggled briefly against his restraints. Any minute now. Allen checked his pulse then ran a soothing hand down his arm, loosening the adhesive holding the electrodes. "Easy, now," he whispered. "Easy."

* * *

><p>Joan paused by the table, waiting for Rossabi to pull out her chair. Smiling her thanks, she sat even as the agent retreated to the rear of the interview room. She set her phone next to Ross' and laid his personnel file between them. "David," she began, "I need you to answer some questions for me.<p>

"I don't have to answer your questions. I've asked for a lawyer."

"I'm not law enforcement, David. I'm not conducting this investigation. I'm just trying to find out if we have an intelligence leak."

"I haven't done anything wrong."

"Maybe not. But when you disregard a lockdown, and run off into the woods... well, I'm sure you can see how that looks. Right now you look guilty of treason."

"I'm a loyal Agency man. I haven't done anything to harm the CIA."

"Then why run? Why the silence? If you haven't done anything wrong, what are you worried about?"

Ross didn't answer.

"The Bureau has authority in cases of illegal activity, even here at Langley, but he has no evidence that you've done anything wrong. Neither have we. All we have against you, is that you were pretending to work on the custodial crew, and that you escaped the building during a lockdown, and tried to get out of Langley. We've traced your phone calls, but all we know is that you received a call from Langley and that you've used it to call an unlisted number somewhere in area code 571. Your actions were suspicious, but the Bureau can't charge you with looking guilty."

Ross' gaze darted back to the phone. "I'm no traitor."

"Then talk to me. Give me some context. Right now, we have very compelling reasons to drill down on your history, and re-examine everything you ever did at the Agency, in your home life... Right now, I'm sure you can appreciate how your silence leaves us with no other option."

"Look all you like. You won't find anything amiss."

Joan opened his file, and began to read. Now and then she'd look up to meet his nervous gaze. About halfway through the folder, Joan folded her hands on top of the page. "What happened in 2001, Dave?" she asked.

"What do you mean? Nothing happened."

"Up until then, you were progressing at the predicted pace, getting more responsibility, moving up the ladder. But after your last promotion in April 2001, nothing. You've been stalled at the same pay grade for over ten years. We may be sneaky, David. We may even be called byzantine, but we take care of our people. Good work is rewarded. Everyone you worked with in 2001 has either moved up the ladder or moved on to other ventures. You're still stuck at GS 8, when most of your cohort is at GS 12 or higher."

A brief flash of bitterness sped across his features, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. "Nothing happened," he repeated, and shot a quick glance at Rossabi.

Joan noticed, and turned towards the agent. "Special Agent Rossabi, a word please?"

She smiled at Ross and followed Rossabi out of the room. "He wants to talk, but he doesn't trust you. You'd know that if you were reading his body language. By law, you can't question him once he's asked for a lawyer. Whatever he tells you without his lawyer being present won't be admissible in court unless he signs a waiver."

Rossabi shook his head in disgust. Joan smiled. "You'll be right on the other side of that glass and you'll hear every word. You might not be able to use what he says in court, but he may give you new leads in the greater investigation. Sometimes, you have to sacrifice a pawn, Special Agent Rossabi, to capture the King."

* * *

><p>It was the noise that roused him: a thunderous pounding, slamming against his eardrums and assaulting his brain. He wanted to block it out, jam his fingers in his ears, but his hands refused to obey. A groan escaped his lips, and the sound of it threatened to split his skull in half.<p>

He had been here before, in this burning desert, surrounded by strange sounds and distant screams. He'd thought himself safe... in control. How was it that he'd come to be in this situation again?

Like before, the air moved around him, burning hot and blistering his lungs, and threatened, like before, to consume him. A hand moved up and down his arm, scorching his skin and leaving the nerve endings raw and exposed. And an acrid stench lodged in his throat and made gag.

"Is he waking up?" a harsh voice bellowed from nearby, penetrating the pounding in his head.

A second voice just as loud but milder in tone replied, "No. He's still unconscious. He's reacting to the stimulant. It can take up to twenty minutes."

"You said fifteen."

"Under normal circumstances, but these circumstances are anything but normal."

The second voice urged him to keep still and quiet. That seemed to be a very good idea. He calmed his breathing. After an interminable time, the pounding in his skull began to diminish, and the burning in his skin eased. His working senses began to resume their usual functions: the swirling waves of noise settled into a manageable cacophony. The blistering heat eased to an oppressive warmth. A medicinal/resinous scent filled his nostrils and the ferrous taste of stale blood lingered on his lips. Without changing anything in his demeanor, he tried to take stock of his situation, to understand... to remember...

"It's been eight minutes!" the first voice growled from closer this time. "Give him another shot."

"We can't do that. You need to let the stimulant work."

As a child, Auggie had trained himself to remain perfectly still even when surprised. It was a skill that had frustrated the hell out of his older brothers, as they'd popped balloons behind his back, and doused him with ice water. That skill had served him as well as anything he'd learned at the Farm and it came back to him now.

As he became more fully awake, he began to think that maybe this wasn't Iraq. Other memories came flooding in. Darkness, frustration, pain. Where the hell was he? His brain was muddled. He couldn't sort through the sounds. He listened carefully for signs of the two men hovering nearby. He needed to know where he was. He could only hope that whoever they were, they weren't watching him. He had to risk opening his eyes for a look around.

"His eyes are open. He's waking up!"

"It doesn't mean anything. The man is blind. It's just a reflex. It happens even with sighted patients. His pulse and respiration haven't changed. He's still out."

What the hell?! And then it came back to him, and it took all his will not to shudder with the memory of it. Taking care to keep his breathing steady, he slowly closed his eyes, and continued to feign sleep.

"Ten minutes, Allen! I'll do it myself, if you don't. Wake him up now."

Allen? Dr. Allen? Who was that? The VA shrink? No, that had been a woman. Where the hell was he? The psych facility. That was it. But who was the other guy? And what was that stink, Pine Sol?

Dr. Allen squeezed Auggie's arm, then turned his hand over, pressing his fist into his palm . "He's still too deeply sedated. It'll only take a few minutes, but it can't be rushed."

Sedated? That explained the headache and the confusion. His brain was muddled, and it was hard to make sense of the situation, but he knew he was awake. He didn't know why Allen wanted him to pretend to be sedated, but, until he could fully figure out just what the hell was going on, he'd play along.

* * *

><p>The black Durango turned into the narrow gravel lane. There was no sign, no name, no route number, only a "Private Property" sign warning trespassers away. "Hey, Captain," Davis said, with a broad grin. "Looks like they might not take too kindly to us just dropping in for a visit. Maybe we should have brought a casserole."<p>

"Shut up and drive, Sergeant Davis," Cameron responded, but he was smiling, too. The GPS indicated a large building at the top of the hill. The private road was bordered by deep woods on both sides, with no other houses or peripheral buildings nearby. Davis killed the lights, and drove slowly through the darkness up the winding hillside. Some five hundred yards from the building, Davis pulled the vehicle over to the side and parked beneath a stand of pines.

"We go the rest of the way on foot," Cameron said. "Ready?"

Annie nodded. Like the rest of the team, she was wearing camouflage boots and utes, with a matching beanie hiding her blond hair. She stowed her phone and night vision binoculars into a slim black backpack, and tucked her gun into a holster which she clipped to her mesh belt.

Cameron touched her arm. "The Agency letting junior field officers carry handguns on domestic missions now?"

"Okay, I'm ready."

"You didn't answer my question."

"No, I didn't."

Cameron smiled and shook his head. "If you get caught, the Agency - "

" - 'will deny all knowledge'... I know. Let's go."

The officer laughed. This girl sure was a firecracker. She just might be the best thing to walk into Auggie's life or the very worst. At the moment, he just couldn't decide which. "Wait till we get the green light from Cooper before you check in with Langley. We need to make sure you don't get any hitchhikers on your call."

The team spilled silently out of the vehicle and dispersed into the darkness. Annie watched them briefly then plunged into the woods, towards the hilltop facility where Auggie was being held.

* * *

><p>Joan closed the door quietly and returned to the table. "Alright, David," she said, taking her seat, "it's just the two of us. Whatever you have to say to me, I promise won't leave this building. What happened in 2001? When you were stationed in Santiago?"<p>

Ross swallowed hard. He met Joan's gaze then quickly looked away. "I... I was just an ordinary econ-intel analyst. The Agency sent a team of us there to keep tabs on President Lagos and his Socialist cabinet members. There was talk that summer that the government was planning on nationalizing some American and foreign owned mines. That was keeping us going 'round the clock. I came back from lunch one day and this envelope was on my desk. I opened it and realized it had been dropped in my in-box by accident: it was obviously meant for the Central Asian desk. There was stuff in Arabic. I'm not fluent and that's no one of my areas of expertise, but I could recognize a few words. The brief mentioned Afghanistan, Pakistan and ..."

Joan's eyes grew wide. "... Al-Qaeda."

Ross looked at his hands. "Maybe. I don't know. I sure as hell didn't know then. I was on a deadline with this Chilean takeover stuff..."

"So you set it aside."

"I didn't mean to. I had every intention of looking through the Agency directory and send it off to the right person, but what with one thing and another, I forgot about it."

"And so you never sent it."

"Oh, I sent it. Things settled down for us by summer's end, and I was going through my in-box when I saw it. I sent it on to Langley, at the end of August." Ross looked up, his eyes filled with anguish. "Had I known... had I had any idea... but I didn't have time to follow what was going on in that part of the world."

"Chile became one of our South American allies."

"We had no way of knowing that would happen. By the time that file reached the Central Asian desk at Langley, it was too late." Ross fell silent, and for a long tense time, he said nothing. Joan watched his internal struggle. At length, he looked up, meeting her gaze. "You probably want to know what the fall-out was. Well, I'll tell you here, because it you said it won't leave the building. There was no fall-out. None.

"You never told anyone?"

Ross frowned. "Whatever it looks like, I'm not a traitor, and I'm not stupid. I did what I felt was the right thing at the time. I couldn't keep it secret, not something that big. But I couldn't afford to lose my job. I couldn't afford to lose the healthcare."

"So who did you tell?"

He glanced towards the glass, then leaned in close. "This doesn't leave Langley, right?" Joan nodded. Ross hesitated a moment before continuing. "I told my station chief and wrote a letter to Henry Wilcox. He was the Director of South American Operations. I knew I was going to be fired, but I was going to fight for my job. And if I still had to leave, then I'd leave with my head held high. I wasn't a traitor.

"What happened?"

"I sent the letter, and a few days later, Henry Wilcox flew over to Santiago to meet with me. I explained what happened. He told me he understood, that it was an honest mistake that never would have happened if we'd had enough people on the South American desk. He said he'd make sure any mention of the incident was removed from my file, and that he'd keep me on but that he might need me to do some work for him from time to time."

"So you agreed."

Ross shrugged. "What choice did I have? I wasn't trained as an operative, but I was ready to do anything to keep my job. Besides, the way I saw it, he'd pulled my ass out of the fire. It was the least I could do. I was transferred back to D.C. and he started asking me to do a few surveillance jobs on people we shouldn't have been tracking. Then, for a long time, he didn't ask me to do anything at all. I thought he'd forgotten about it, until about a year ago, when he asked me to start watching some returning vets. It was strange because by that time, he'd retired. He wasn't even at the CIA any more, but I owed him, so I did it."

* * *

><p>Auggie could feel Dr. Allen fumbling with his hand, even as he was uttering soothing nonsense. With painful slowness, his muddled mind began to clear. He knew he was awake, though he couldn't remember falling asleep. The nightmare of fire and pain was retreating to that dark and secret place where his monsters dwelt. He felt the restraints on his wrists and knew that escape was not possible at this time. He knew that there was Allen and at least one other man in the room. Allen's steps were cushioned as he hovered nearby, but the other guy, whose pacing betrayed his impatience, was wearing hard soled shoes or maybe boots.<p>

Auggie's head still ached, but he'd endured worse. His thinking was still slow, but at least his thoughts were growing clearer. If he'd been sedated, then he'd been interrogated. How much had he revealed? Allen's questions had always come back to the Jack-of-Diamonds mission. Was that what this was all about? If so, what had he told them? He was still here, awake and relatively unharmed, so he had to assume that his cover was still intact. Whatever he had revealed, he could still limit the fallout, as long as he found a way to take control of the situation.

To his right, the second man, his interrogator he guessed, continued his pacing. Auggie followed the hard slap of his shoes back and forth across the room, and by the man's steps, he could tell that the room was probably no more than ten or twelve feet across. He tried to conjure up the image of interrogation rooms he'd seen, but his drug-addled brain wouldn't cooperate.

Restrained as he was, the use of force was out of the question. He might get in a good kick or two, but they'd jab him with another shot of sleepy juice and he'd be in a worse fix than he was now. He might stand a chance of persuading one of the two men to release him.

He'd figured out that much, and if Allen would stop his annoying hand game, he might be able to figure out a little more before they realized he was awake.

What the hell was Allen playing at anyway? The finger dance was downright annoying, and Auggie wanted to close his fist, but that might betray him. And then, slowly, Auggie began to notice a pattern to Allen's game.

Auggie kept his breathing steady, and focused on the man's hand moving against his palm. Different gestures, finger positions. Could it really be that simple? It all began making sense. It took all his self-discipline and training not to laugh at the simple brilliance of it. He was having his own friggin' Helen Keller moment! Allen was signing letters into his palm." A..L..G..O..L.."

What? What the hell was 'algol'?

"E..F..T..A..T..M..Y"

This didn't make sense. Maybe it had been too long since he'd done this. He'd never tried this blind.

"..M..Y..S..I..G..N..A..L..G..O..L..E..F..T..A..T..M..Y..S..I..G..N..A..L..G..O..L..E..F..T..A..T..M..Y.."

'At... my.. signal.. go.. left. At my signal go left.' Auggie released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He closed his hand slightly and signed "yes." At once he felt Allen squeeze his hand, and pressed two more letters in his palm. "O..K."

* * *

><p>The team had dispersed, with dimly blinking red lights on Annie's radio the only indication that the others team members were in the vicinity. Annie crept beneath the trees, keeping to the shadows, until a brightly lit expanse of lawn opened before her. A space of fifteen yards or so had been cleared between the edge of the woods and a chain link fence topped with barbed wire. Beyond the fence, another wide, treeless swath extended for some twenty yards before reaching the road and then the main building.<p>

The main building loomed before her: a mid-century red brick construction that hadn't quite managed to keep up with the times. Along the front edge of the roof, a set of six spotlights mounted cast a harsh day-like clarity over the open stretch of lawn all the way to the trees beyond the fence. Annie stepped back a few feet and crouched deeper into the shadows. She fuly expected to see armed sentries appear from around opposite corners, but no one came. Strangely, there didn't seem to be anyone patrolling the property.

A dozen cars were parked haphazardly near a set of stairs leading to a wooden door with peeling green paint. Dingy and dark wood-framed windows, cracked concrete foundations added to the general sense of neglect about the place. Annie was reminded of an orphanage she'd volunteered at briefly in South Ossetia. At the time she'd thought it the most depressing building she'd ever seen. It still was, but this one ran a close second.

This was like no hospital Annie had ever seen. There were no signs, no parking lot, nothing to identify the facility or its purpose. A satellite dish on the edge of the roof of the main building was the only concession to the twenty-first century.

The dazzling spotlights gave her the advantage. Anyone looking out from the building would see nothing beyond the bright pool of light. Annie checked her watch. The team was set to rendez-vous back at the vehicle in ten minutes. With little time to lose Annie pulled a camera from her pack, and got to work.

* * *

><p>"Is that everything?"<p>

Ross nodded. "That's all I'm going to say to anyone until I speak to a lawyer."

"Fair enough." Joan closed the folder and capped her pen. "Thank-you for your cooperation, David. This may prove valuable."

"Yeah, to whom?"

"I don't know how this will all play out, but I would suggest you keep an open mind. It's my guess that you will face charges for having tried to evade a lock-down, perhaps even espionage charges. If, however, you should share what you've told me with the prosecution, you may find yourself in a position to repair some of the damage you've done. I would suggest that you listen very closely to the prosecution's offer." Joan smiled slightly and exited the room.

"He's all yours," she said to Rossabi, "though I doubt you'll find any evidence of malfeasance on his part. He's just scared and naive. I daresay we've all been in his shoes at one time or another."

"I haven't" Rossabi answered with a smirk. "What did he tell you?"

Joan regarded him thoughtfully. "He's a smart man who made a mistake a long time ago. Since then he's been over a barrel. He knows a lot more than he told me. You'd be smart to have him on your side. Now if you'll excuse me."

She left Rossai to his questioning. Leo would send her the transcripts. She made a beeline for the elevators and the Seventh Floor. Arthur would want to know this.

* * *

><p>Tomacek stopped his pacing and cracked his knuckles. "Is he awake?"<p>

"He's waking," replied.

Tomacek pushed away from the wall.

Under pretense of checking Auggie's vital signs, Allen leaned across the gurney. As surreptitiously as he could, he loosened the restraints around Auggie's wrists. "In three...," he whispered, "...two...one...

Auggie swung his legs over the side and leaped off of the gurney. He winced slightly as the electrode tapes ripped away.

"What the fuck!" Tomacek yelled.

Auggie swayed for an instant, grabbed at the gurney for balance.

"Down," Allen cried.

Auggie ducked and felt a rush of air blow past his ear. He shoved the gurney, and was rewarded with an impact and a grunt and clatter. Crouching low, he kept the gurney between himself and the other man. "What was that?" he asked Allen.

"He dropped his gun," Allen replied, diving for the weapon.

He heard a zip. A pop. A gasp. Damn, he knew that sound. A bullet. "Allen?"

"I'm okay. It's just a nick. I have the -"

Allen's voice was cut off by the sound of a heavy blow and a cry of pain. Auggie scrambled towards the sound of a struggle. His foot connected with something soft. He dropped and He groped for the struggling man's shoulders, his arms, his hands, until he found them wrapped around Allen's grip. He twisted the man's arms, grappled with at least one opponent. "Let go, Allen, I've got him. Hold on to his gun."

"I don't have it!"

He shook his head to clear his wits. He slammed the man's right arm to the floor, and heard the gun skitter away.

"I've got it! I've got the gun" Allen cried a moment later from a few feet to his right.

Auggie tried to pin the man's arms to the floor, but his adversary was fit, fast, and had a clearer head. Keeping an elbow in the man's neck, he swung for the face, and missed. The other man clutched at his arm and using his momentum against him, flung Auggie to the floor. Auggie waited. As soon as he felt himself pinned to the floor, he made his move, and kneed him in the groin with all his might.

The other man choked and fell off of him, gasping for air. Auggie scrambled to his feet. "Allen?" The interrogator was groaning on the floor. "Allen, damn it!"

"I'm okay... just give me a second."

He heard fumbling, a half-stifledgroan, and another sound he couldn't identify. "What are you doing?"

"Giving Tomacek a taste of his own medicine."

Auggie frowned in confusion. Tomacek? The name was vaguely familiar, but where had he seen it?

A quiet groan, and the scent of blood drew him back to the present.

"I've just given him a dose of sedative, the same one I gave you, and..." He paused before continuing, " ... and a strong doze of diazepam. He won't... he won't remember a thing about this whole day. .. maybe the week. Let's get out of here. Help me up?"

Auggie reached an arm out and Allen latched on, his hand sticky with blood.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

He didn't sound fine. By his voice and the thick scent of blood, Auggie guessed that Allen was more seriously hurt that he was letting on. "Can you walk?"

There was a moment's hesitation. "Yeah, I can walk."

"Then let's get out of here before our friend wakes up."

"He won't be waking up for a while."

Auggie grabbed Allen's arm. The therapist couldn't quite stifle a gasp. Auggie let go "Where are you shot?"

"Upper arm. Bullet went through and through. Shattered the bone, though."

Auggie pulled off his top, and ripped off the hem. "Any dressings or pads around here? Anything to make a splint?"

"No the room is pretty bare. This isn't much of a hospital."

"You can give me all the gory details later. We need to get you patched up." He tore a wide strip of fabric, folded it over several times, and wrapped it around Allen's arm, and bound it as gently as he could. He fashioned a sling with the remnants of his top. "I can't do much to stabilize the break, but hopefully this will slow the bleeding."

"We need to get out of here."

"See my cane anywhere?"

"No. You didn't have it when they brought you. It's probably still in your room."

"Then that's where we need to go first," Auggie said and reached for the man's healthy arm. "Lead on."

* * *

><p>The team met at the Durango at the agreed upon time.<p>

"Sit rep,"

"That's no hospital, Captain," Scott offered.

"It's no fortress either," Davis added. "We can get in if we need to."

"I didn't see any sentries," Annie chimed in. "The place was pretty quiet."

"Doesn't mean there weren't any," Davis said. "Just means we didn't see them."

"Comm?"

"Just the one satellite dish," Cooper answered. Easy enough to jam if we get close enough.

Annie shook her head. "Looks too easy. What are we missing?"

Cameron agreed. "We need to go back tomorrow. Reconnoiter the place in broad daylight. It'll be riskier, but we need to know what we're up against."

Annie bristled. "Don't you mean what Auggie's up against."

* * *

><p>"How did you know I'd know sign language?" Auggie needed to keep Allen talking. That and his gait were the only way he could monitor how the man was feeling. The signs were not encouraging.<p>

"I read your file." His voice sounded weak. "You learned it ... part of your Eagle Scout project... my sister's deaf... so I figured it was worth a try. We're here," he said, and stopped. "This is your room." He fumbled for the key with his free hand, and opened the door. "I don't see your cane."

"Funny, neither do I." Auggie smiled grimly and felt his way towards the bed. He reached under the pillow. "Not the world's greatest hiding place, but hey, it worked."

He'd expected a reply from Allen.

"Allen, talk to me."

"I just need to lie down a bit."

"Take the bed. How bad is it?"

"It's not good. I can't feel my lower arm or fingers."

Auggie reached for Allen's injured arm. The makeshift bandage was dripping, and the sleeve of the man's lab coat was slick with blood. His hand was cold. "Did it hit an artery?"

"I don't think so. I wouldn't be talking with you if it did. But it's pretty messy, and it hurts like hell."

"We need to get out of here." Auggie sat on the floor, and twisted the tip of his cane.

"What are you doing?"

Auggie smiled. "Calling 9-1-1."

_To be continued._


	19. Tandem

_Thank-you all for your patience, as life and family obligations conspired to rob me of any writing time. Thanks for your reviews, encouragement and helpful advice. Special thanks to Marie for her gentle prodding and to ServantO5 for the helpful medical advice. Hopefully, I haven't caused any irreparable damage to our hero. _

_This chapter is long on talk, and a little short on action, but at least it moves the story forward...I hope. As always, please disregard any typos you might spot. It's late as I post this. I'll give it a closer look in couple of days, and clean up any messes._

_And so without further ado...chapter 18. Enjoy!_

_Udate 2.19.13 - I've corrected the most glaring typos, and given it a few tweaks to improve the narrative flow._

**Chapter 18 - Tandem**

Richard Allen eased onto the bed. Stifling a grunt of pain, he lowered his head onto the thin pillow.

Auggie listened to the doctor's ragged breathing. "Hey, you still with me, doc?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Auggie shot a skeptical look in the psychiatrist's general direction.

"Okay, maybe not fine, but I'm hangin' in there. You?"

"A bitch of a headache, but I've had worse."

Time was short, and Auggie knew he had to get a message to Langley a.s.a.p. He depressed the tip of his cane to engage the FM transmitter and counted down ten seconds. Auggie listened closely, but all he heard was the therapist's quiet breathing. "Don't fal asleep on me. I need you to stay awake, okay? Can't do this without you."

"Just need to rest a bit."

For all his independence, Auggie really didn't think he could do this alone, but he didn't know how much Allen could do to help him. He'd have had to be deaf as well as blind not to hear the pain and weariness in Allen's voice. Auggie's head was pounding. He tried to scrub the ache from behind his eyes, focus through the drug-induced hangover, and consider his next move.

He'd have to read Allen in. There was no way around it. The shrink was a smart guy and had probably started piecing the puzzle together. Still, he was a civilian, and Auggie hated having to let him into his circle of trust. It meant that there would be more briefings and debriefings. More dire warnings. More polygraphs, and more damned paperwork. He'd be lucky if he ever emerged from his office again after this one.

Focus, Auggie, damn it! His mind was wandering again. Focus. Here and now, Anderson. Focus on the mission. There'll be time to deal with the fallout later. "So, Doc, tell me about this room," he said, dragging a hand through his hair and his thoughts back to the present.

"Plain, square room. A bed, a sink and a commode. Fluorescent lights."

"I could tell that much without your help."

"You couldn't know about the lights," Allen insisted.

Auggie rolled his eyes. "Fluorescent lights make a distinctive buzzing sound. I don't suppose you see a light switch anywhere?"

"No. The lights are controlled centrally."

"Nice. What about cameras, microphones?"

"There's a closed circuit camera. Links up to a monitoring system downstairs."

His lips curled in a smug half-grin.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself. There's no audio, since the patients are usually kept isolated and don't talk much. At least, not after the first few days. But there's a camera in every room for security purposes, in case you guys should try something."

"Where is it?"

Auggie heard the injured man shift on the thin mattress. Was he pointing? Really?

"Just over there."

"Oh, right. Don't know how I missed it."

"Sorry. Over your right shoulder, about eight feet up."

"So, they know you're in here."

"Only if the kid at the desk is paying attention. There are a lot of screens to monitor."

Normally, Auggie might have been tempted to turn around and wave at the camera, but there was nothing normal about this situation. Auggie turned his back to the camera and tried not to think about every way this op could go wrong. He dropped his head and rounded his shoulders, hoping that whoever was watching would think he was simply hunched over with exhaustion. It wasn't too far from the truth.

He gripped his folded cane in his hands and bounced the tip against the floor, sending a brief message to Langley. With any luck, Barber and the crew had figured out his code and would to forward the message to the extraction team. He released a slow breath, then twisted the tip to the 'off' position, and planned his next move.

Allen gave a tight chuckle. "So that's why you were so adamant about getting your cane back."

"It's one reason. Not the main one."

Allen made a thoughtful noise

"It's complicated."

"It always is. You wanna talk about it?"

Auggie snorted. "Any other cameras?"

"The hallways, reception area, fire exits."

"What about your office and the interrogation rooms?"

"No. No cameras there. We're never left alone with the patients."

"So no one witnessed our little altercation?"

"No."

Well, chalk one up for the 'win' column. This whole mission could go wrong in so many ways, but Auggie was beginning to form a plan. He'd need a clear head, Allen's help, and a good deal of luck. He found Allen's uninjured shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I've got a plan to get us out of here. So rest up a bit, but don't get too comfortable."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Boss, I'm heading to the food court. Can I bring you anything?"<p>

Barber didn't answer. He held a hand up, alerting Stu, and anyone else who was watching, to stand by.

"A message from Auggie?"

Barber nodded, engrossed in the message scrolling across his screen. "Stu, who do we have here that reads Turkish?"

"You mean aside from Annie?"

"Well, yeah, seeing how Annie is in Colorado, it would be best to find someone else."

"There's Baris in Legal."

"Get him down here!"

* * *

><p>"Jesus H. Christ!" Arthur threw the folder onto the bed. "Please tell me that no one on that committee actually believes this fiction."<p>

"Please tell _me_ that's not a transcript of Henry's testimony," Joan said, shaking her head.

Arthur gave his wife a shrug and his trademark bad-boy grin, but said nothing.

"How did you get that? The Intelligence Committee hearing room has got to be the most secure room in all of D.C."

Still, Arthur said nothing.

"You have an asset on the Intelligence Committee," she said grinning and climbed into bed. "Actual HUMINT, not tech. I'm impressed."

"You should be," Arthur teased, but his tone quickly turned serious again. "They're going to confirm the old bastard, regardless of his record, even though they know this is a complete fabrication. Just look at this."

"Should I?"

"No, I guess not. But it's all prevarications, omissions, and outright lies. Not a word of truth in any of it. Everything designed to cast the Agency in the worst possible light. As if we didn't have enough P.R. problems already."

"That's just the nature of the work. Our successes are known only to ourselves and a very select few, while our failures are trumpeted across every media outlet. We aren't in it for the accolades."

"Accolades, no. Respect for our operatives and the sacrifices they make, that would be a pleasant change."

"That's not what we signed up for. That's why we celebrate our own successes."

"You know, I hate it when you're right," Arthur said, and gave his wife a kiss. He picked up the folder again, muttering in disgust. "He's supposed to be under oath. He supposed to be telling the truth."

"We're spies, Arthur, and so is Henry. The truths we deal in aren't absolutes. The committee members know that, the same way they know he's lying. They'll measure the degree of truth they expect against any possible political gain. My bet is that Henry has dirt on at least half of those committee members, evidence of misdeeds, allegations of wrongdoing just waiting to be used as leverage when needed."

"Damn the politics! This is national security they're playing with."

Joan shook her head. "It's all political, and Henry plays that game better than almost anyone I know. He'll lay on the charm. The committee members will play along, and confirm a snake like Henry Wilcox, someone who resigned under suspicion of treason, rather than risk exposure and political ruin."

"We need to expose _him_."

" We have Ross' testimony. That's a start."

"We need more. We need Auggie's intel now. Have you heard from him?"

"Off and on," Joan replied. "Don't worry. He'll deliver the goods. He's never let us down."

"Not yet." Arthur found his wife's hand, and planted a kiss on her knuckles. "But sometimes, I worry that you're overestimating his abilities."

"And you underestimate them."

A buzz from Joan's bedside table interrupted their talk. She glanced at the screen then at her husband, and answered. "Yes?"

Arthur dropped her hand, suddenly all business.

"For himself?" Joan asked. She listened a while longer. "Alright. If you're sure it's genuine, alert the team, but have them wait for him to give the green light. It's his op, his call. Keep me in the loop, and text me the message," she said and ended the call.

"I'm your boss," Arthur said after as she set the phone on the nightstand. "I could demand that you divulge the contents of that call."

"Pulling rank on me?"

"Do I have to?"

Joan sighed. "Barber just received a message from Auggie. He's requesting a medical evacuation."

"For himself?"

"No. He says he's fine. He was clear about that. I'm guessing he has someone with him. But... I don't know..."

"What is it?"

"Barber says his message was hard to decipher, full of misspellings and odd, misplaced pauses. Either he was trying to tell us something or he's injured too."

"Did he say that?"

"No, he insisted that he was fine, but Barber says something seemed off."

"Are they sure it was him?"

"The code was Braille-based, and spelled out in Turkish. The likelihood of anyone lucking onto that is virtually nil."

Joan's phone chirped. She picked it up and glanced at the screen. "I'm heading back to Langley," she said, swinging her legs out of bed. "Don't wait up."

Arthur made a face. "Wait," he called as Joan disappeared into the bathroom. "You said Henry plays politics better than _almost _anyone in D.C. Who do we have who can beat him at his game?"

Joan stepped back into the room, twisting her hair into a bun. She smiled, capturing his gaze. "You , Arthur. We have you."

* * *

><p>"Incoming message, Captain." Graham Cooper grabbed his headphones and a notepad.<p>

Curtis Cameron caught Annie's gaze and held a finger to his lips.

Cooper's fingers flew over the keys to acknowledge receipt, then signed off. He jotted a short note, tore off the page and held it out to Cameron. "He's asking us to prepare for a medical evacuation, but want us to stand by."

Annie studied the message. "No. Something's wrong. We need to get him out now." She grabbed her pack and headed for the door.

Cameron grabbed her shoulders. "Whoa, there. You're not going anywhere." The others, excepting Cooper, all rose to their feet.

"Think this through, Walker," Cameron continued. "Think about what you're fixin' to do. By rushing in there, even though Auggie's asking us to wait, you might jeopardize his op. He wants us to stand by, and that's what we're gonna do."

"If that's what you want to do, fine. But I'm not under your command."

"But you are under Auggie's." Cameron paused for a moment before continuing. "Think about it, Annie. If we go storming in there, unprepared, we could be putting Auggie in even more danger. He said to hold tight, and that's what we're going to do."

"So what are you saying? That we should just leave him there? You read the message. Did that sound like the Auggie you served with?"

Curtis didn't need to answer.

"He's not himself," Annie continued. "Something's wrong, and he needs our help. He's too proud to admit it."

"The Auggie I know will take control of the situation. He'll get as much intel as he can safely gather, then find a defensible position and hold it until we get there. That's the Auggie I know."

Annie looked around. Doc and the two sergeants had quietly taken position on each side of their team leader, forming a wall of brawn that she had no way of breaching. She'd have to reason with them. Bring them 'round to her way of thinking.

She set her pack on the floor. "Look, Curtis, you said it yourself. Auggie has a history of keeping the riskiest part of a mission for himself. Maybe it's hubris, or maybe he's just that good. Whatever it is, he's not going to call in help for himself. For someone else, maybe, but not for himself. Even if he's hurt or in danger, he'll try to handle the situation on his own rather than risk anyone else's life."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that he won't call for backup unless he's in dire need, and by then it might be too late to help him. At the very least, we need to get into position, so that when he does call, we're right there and ready to spring into action."

"Look at us, Walker," Cameron said, and gestured to his camo clad team. "We can't just ring the bell and ask to visit with Captain Anderson."

Annie surveyed the team, and a slow half grin spread across her face. "Well, not dressed like that, you can't."

* * *

><p>Allen was quiet and resting, but Auggie could tell by his breathing that he was awake. "Who's monitoring the cameras?" he asked.<p>

"At this hour, probably Sam, my research assistant."

"You have a research assistant?"

"When I was hired, I was told I'd be conducting research into PTSD. I hired a grad student to help organize the data." After a full pause, Allen continued, "The reality of the job turned out to be quite different from the advertisement. For both of us."

Auggie nodded. That made sense Allen didn't seem like a bad guy, just some unsuspecting ivory tower type who got sucked into this mess. "So what kind of experimentation did you subject us to?"

Allen hesitated before continuing. "Different types of drug therapies, but it's not what you think... or it wasn't when I started... I didn't expect... I thought I'd be helping."

Auggie gave a sour grunt of laughter. "Some help! How much do you know about me?"

"Not much, you play your cards pretty close to the vest. Your file said you were a traumatized vet blinded in battle, significant TBI, PTSD. You pretty much fit the profile for the guys we get here."

"Profile?"

"We were set up to help vets deal with varying degrees of emotional distress and psychological trauma."

"I'm sure that looks good on paper. And the drugs and interrogations?"

"Ways of breaking down barriers and allow true healing."

"By torturing people? You're kidding, right?"

"It wasn't supposed to go that far."

"I'll bet," Auggie replied. "So how did you get involved in all this?"

"I wrote a research grant. I wanted to investigate the therapeutic effects of certain drugs combined with sensory deprivation and therapy in the treatment of severe PTSD."

"And you got funding?"

"Actually, no. I got laughed off the convention floor. Until a few weeks after presenting, whenI got a letter on Department of Defense letterhead."

Auggie shook his head. "It figures. I know about the sleep deprivation, the tank and the drugs, but there were other experiments, weren't there?

"Yeah. They pumped hallucinogenic gases into the air supply in the sensory deprivation lab. Your food was tampered with, too."

"I'm guessing the results of your research aren't the kind that'll ever be published."

"Not in any reputable journal," Allen answered. "My career is probably over."

No, Auggie thought, Allen's work would probably find its way into Langley's arsenal of weapons. The Agency might have a special job for him yet, though it would be one that he hadn't expected. "So this Sam guy, was he privy to this work?"

"Sam's a girl. Samantha, and no. As soon as I brought her in, she was assigned to desk duty, along with another assistant who'd been here before her."

"So who does she report to?"

"Me," Allen replied, and added with a note of suspicion, "Why?"

"Who else?"

"Damn, you spooks are a paranoid bunch!"

Okay, Auggie thought, so Allen had figured out that much. Maybe he wouldn't have to read him in after all. He could just tell Joan the shrink had put all the pieces together on his own. Auggie said nothing and tried to maintain an air of neutral detachment. In the spy game, it was best to let the mark do the talking. Most Americans were afraid of quiet, afraid of dead air. So Auggie listened and let Allen fill the silence.

Allen shifted on the cot and continued, "You're a hard guy to read. You keep your secrets locked away pretty tight."

Auggie shrugged and gave a small smirk.

"I studied your file, and Tomacek filled in some of the blanks. The tattoo on your back came as a surprise, but that kind of fits the profile, too. I'm guessing you weren't exactly the parade-ground variety of soldier."

Auggie grinned. "That's one way of putting it."

"So no medal ceremonies or White House presentations?"

"Not any time soon."

"Don't worry, Captain, your secrets are safe with me. Doctor patient privilege. Even with the drugs you didn't say much."

"So this Tomacek... he's the interrogator?"

"Yeah. Know him?

Auggie shook his head."Never met him. Never heard of him before I came here." Auggie rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to make sense of this. "Your turn. Who signs your paycheck?"

"The ARRA Group. Albion Research and Risk Assessment."

Auggie straightened. "Albion?" That was the last name he'd been expecting.

"You've heard of it?"

"The name's familiar. So what does the ARRA Group do?"

"Research and risk assessment. We take referrals from the DoD, the VA and the State Department."

"Risk assessment?"

"Not everyone is as well adjusted as you are..."

"A buddy of mine was sent here, and after he got out - "

"Wait. You're a friend of Bolduc's?"

"You know him? Was he one of your patients?"

"I only know of him. He has quite a reputation. The only guy who ever checked himself out of here... so to speak. They fired everyone after that. I came in after." He took a slow breath and continued. "So, Bolduc's a friend of yours."

"Was. He drove his truck off a mountain a few weeks ago."

"Shit! On purpose?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Not really unusual or unexpected, given the circumstances."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, only you know the statistics as well as I do. And... well, based on what I read about him... Was it intentional?"

"Not, _his _intention."

"You think someone from ARRA was behind his death. Tomacek, maybe?"

"It would make sense. Whoever Tomacek works for wouldn't want the public to know about the kind of treatment that goes on here. It's not exactly AMA sanctioned." Allen said nothing. "You hangin' in there, Doc?" Auggie asked.

"Yeah," he said tightly. He stifled a groan and shifted slightly. "I'm not sure who Tomacek is. He doesn't have a schedule, just shows up and then is only interested in some of the guys. Special cases."

"Like me?"

"Yeah."

"What about Danny Bolduc? Did Tomacek work with him?"

"I don't know. Like I said, before my time."

"There's another guy I know here. Captain Tommy Marcus. I'm guessing his file probably looks a lot like mine. Has Tomacek been working with him?"

"Yeah."

"He say anything? Anything that he shouldn't have?"

"I'm not at liberty..."

"C'mon, Doc. You don't have to go into the details, just tell me if he spilled to Tomacek."

"No, he didn't. He's as tight-lipped as you are."

Atta boy, Tommy, Auggie thought. "That's our starting point, then," Auggie said with a grim smile.

"He keeps probing for operational details about your missions."

"Well, he's not going to get them." Auggie changed the subject. "How many guys are being held here?

"Two dozen or so, some active duty, some vets. Tomacek's not interested in everyone though."

"Just those of us whose missions are still classified, right?"

Auggie's question was met with silence. He assumed the therapist must have nodded. "You still with me?"

"Yeah." But his voice was growing weaker. "The cavalry coming any time soon?"

"Yeah, but I need your help, first."

"I don't think I'll be much good in a fight."

"With any luck, it shouldn't come to that. Do you think you can walk?"

"Nothing wrong with my legs. What do you need?"

"I need to get to a computer. After that I'll need you to be my eyes. Think you can manage that?"

"I think so." Auggie heard the springs squeak and the sound of the man's shoes hitting the floor. "Yeah," he added with more determination, "I can do that, but I need to keep my arm immobile. There's nerve damage, I think..."

Auggie nodded. "Let's see if we can keep it from getting worse." Auggie ran his fingertips lightly up the man's arm. The makeshift bandage was soaked through "Is it still bleeding?"

"Not so much anymore."

Auggie quickly fashioned a splint out of the blankets and adjusted the sling. Using strips torn from the sheet, he bound Allen's arm to his chest. "Better?" he asked.

Allen slowly released his breath. "A little, yeah. Thanks. Not bad for a blind guy."

Auggie smiled at the left-handed compliment. "Back in my unit, we were all expected to be able to do each other's jobs, even in the dark if we had to."

Allen gave a weak chuckle. Auggie continued. "We all trained as medics, snipers, radio operators in addition to our specialties."

"And your specialty was..."

"Okay, enough lounging around. Good to go?"

"Yeah. Nice dodge, by the way."

Auggie replied with a smirk, and pushed himself to his feet. At once the floor seemed to tilt and sway. A wave of dizziness threatened to send him crashing to the floor. He threw out an arm for balance and found the wall. His knees buckled slightly, and he leaned into the wall, waiting for the floor to stop moving.

"Easy, Captain, you've still got a bunch of meds coursing through your system. They're likely to mess with your balance and coordination, not to mention your thinking, for a while."

He took a breath and pressed his hands harder against the wall. "I've had worse. Come on, Doc. Let's get this job done."

"Yeah," Allen said, pushing himself up. "You really believe we can do this?"

"I really believe we can do this. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I'm going to get us out. You, me, and all the other guys here. We're going to shut down and expose this operation and then we'll shut down and expose whoever's behind it. That's something you can believe too."

* * *

><p>Barber was nodding in front of his screen when he was roused by the sliding door.<p>

"Anything new?"

He jolted up, almost knocking over a can of Mountain Dew. He righted the can, cast a quick glance at the screen, and reached for the mouse. "Uh...no, ma'am. Nothing from Auggie in the last forty-five minutes. Annie checked in twenty minutes ago, assuring us that the team's awaiting instructions."

"And you think she is?"

"She said she was," Barber replied. Joan looked skeptical. "You think she won't?"

"This is Annie Walker we're talking about. It wouldn't be the first time she's blown off orders and gone off-book."

"She always pulls through, though. She gets results."

"She usually has Auggie to get her out of trouble." Joan scanned the screen. "Can you pinpoint her location?"

Barber's fingers flew over the keys. Within seconds a new screen appeared, showing six blinking green dots. "She's at the safe house with the rest of the team."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

Joan nodded. "Okay. Where's Stu?"

"He was falling asleep at his post. I sent him downstairs to catch a couple of hours' sleep."

Joan glanced at the waste basket by the desk. It was near overflowing with crushed soda cans and chip bags. She smiled warmly. "How long have you been on duty, Eric?"

"I don't know. But I'm good. I'm fine."

"Give Stu another hour, then it's your turn to take a break. That's an order. You won't do Auggie any good if you sleep through his call."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

><p>Annie glanced at the five men lounging around the apartment, utes and boots replaced by the casual business attire they'd been wearing when she first joined them for the flight into Denver. She was suddenly feeling less than confident about her chances at passing them off as mid-level health department pencil-pushers. "Can you guys slouch or something?" she asked.<p>

Curtis Cameron looked up, puzzled. "What?"

"Never mind." She took a quick look in the mirror, adjusted her collar and glasses. "Welcome back, Dr. Betrand," she whispered to her reflection.

Curtis rubbed a hand over his chin. "Alright. You gonna tell us your great plan? Nice wig, by the way."

"We need an excuse to get the team into position, right?" Curtis nodded. "Health facilities are subject to surprise state inspection at any time of day or night, without warning."

"So you're suggesting we just ring the doorbell, flash our badges, which, incidentally we don't have, and demand to see their records."

"I have a badge... of sorts, and you guys are with me. Graham can you print us out some official looking checklists?

Cooper nodded, and fired up his computer.

Annie continued. "We'll pick up badge-holders and clip-boards at the Wal-Mart in town."

Cameron shook his head. "Badges or not, there's no way they're just gonna let us in."

Annie smiled, thankful for the files Auggie had given her at the launch of this op. "When inspectors are on site, all personnel from the lowliest custodian to the Board of Directors are required to comply with the inspectors' request or the facility risks losing its license to operate."

"You're assuming this place has a license," Doc chimed in.

"I'm guessing the people running this place won't be on site at this hour. And the employees probably assume everything is on the up and up."

"And then what?" Curtis asked skeptically.

"We wait a couple of hours, when the night shift is settling into its routine. Cooper can use his parabolic mics to let us know when things start settling down. Then, we ring the doorbell, flash our badges, and walk on in." Annie glanced 'round the room. The men regarded her with caution, but seemed willing to hear her out, so she continued. "Doc and I will go looking for Auggie, Cooper meanwhile jams internal communications, and Scott and Davis ward off any trouble that might be lurking."

Curtis made his way over to a second laptop. He typed in his credentials and began typing a message to Langley.

"What are you doing?" Annie asked.

"Your plan has merit, but we're not going in unprepared. Let's get Langley to send us every last shred of information they can round up this snake pit. I want plans and blueprints from the bedrock up. I want phone bills, water, power usage, and tax records. I want their suppliers, their local licensing documents and everything else they've ever filed with the county, the state and the fed. We'll go in. We'll do it your way, Annie Walker, but I'll be damned if we're going in blind."

* * *

><p>The halls were quiet with none of the subtle sounds that punctuated Auggie's waking hours. No distant chime of the elevator. No sound of water running through ancient pipes. No hushed conversations. The only sounds to break the silence were their muffled steps, the soft sliding and occasional contact of Auggie's cane. Slowly, Auggie and Dr. Allen made their way through the maze of corridors.<p>

"What time is it?" Auggie asked, adjusting his grip on the doctor's uninjured arm.

"Not sure. We're not allowed to wear watches. Around nine, I'm guessing."

"In the morning?"

"At night," he answered, and paused briefly. "You really can't tell, can you?"

"You thought I was faking this?" Auggie asked incredulously.

"No, I guess not. But we were warned not to believe anything you guys said. I'm not sure I know who to believe anymore."

"You can believe me," Auggie said.

"Yeah, funny how Tomacek said the same thing."

As they rounded the corner, Auggie realized that this part of the building was beginning to feel familiar. "Did we just pass the elevators?"

"Yeah, how did you guess?"

"I didn't guess," Auggie shrugged. "Sounds and smells mostly. I just kind of knew."

As they continued through the maze of corridors, Auggie's focus grew increasingly intent. His brows knitted together as he listened. Vaguely familiar bits of sound, texture, and scent, too small to have any meaning of their own, began falling into place into something almost recognizable.

He pulled Allen to a stop. The doctor gave a sharp hiss of pain. "Where are you taking me exactly?" he asked.

Allen hesitated slightly. "To the offices. That's what you - "

Auggie cut him off. "This isn't the way to the offices."

"What do you mean? Of course it is."

Auggie pulled away, sweeping his cane in a wide arc until it struck the opposite wall. "Dude, don't do this to me! I may be blind and more than a little drug-addled, but even I can tell the difference between an office area and a treatment room. Where the hell are you taking me?"

"We need to go back to the interrogation room," Dr. Allen admitted reluctantly.

"Not happening." Auggie started retracing his steps. "You are not getting me back in there. Nice try. You almost had me."

Allen laid a hand on Auggie's shoulder. Auggie spun round, and shoved the injured man against the wall. Allen gave a sharp cry of pain. "Do not. Grab me. Ever," he hissed, and spun away.

Allen leaned against the wall. "You don't understand," he uttered through pain-clenched teeth. "There are meds in there. Morphine. I can't help you the pain won't let me think straight."

Auggie stopped in his tracks. As much as he despised the shrink's weakness and gullibility, the guy had taken a bullet for him. His upper arm was shattered. Auggie had been wounded before the injury that took his sight. And growing up with four rowdy older brothers, he'd had his share of bumps, bruises and even a couple of breaks, but he'd been lucky overall and had no recollection of the kind of pain Allen must be experiencing. "It's that bad?" he asked.

"Yeah," Allen said tightly, "it's that bad."

Auggie turned around, and made his way back carefully sweeping his cane to avoid striking the injured man. "Okay, we go back. You take what you need. Enough to dull the pain, but not enough to knock you out. Understood?"

Allen nodded. "Understood. Besides," he continued, "I need to check on Tomacek."

Auggie's look of determination was replaced with one of puzzlement. "Tomacek? Why?"

"I think I may have killed him."

* * *

><p>"Who did you say you were?" the heavyset man asked as he peered at the group standing at the door.<p>

Annie heaved an exaggerated sigh, and in a tone one might use with a toddler, repeated slowly. "Dr. Laurie-Anne Betrand. CDOH. That's the Colorado Department of Health. These gentlemen are state health department inspectors."

"And you're here at this hour? To inspect our facility? We've never had an inspection here. I'm going to have to call this in to my supervisor," he said, reaching for his walkie-talkie.

Annie set a hand on the larger man's wrist. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. If you've read your facility's licensing documentation, page 32, paragraph 3, article C, you'll recall that the State is authorized to conduct inspections, without prior notice, at any time of the day or night, so as to ensure patient well-being and health code compliance. Any attempt to block or delay an inspection may result in the immediate revocation of the facility's license. That means your patients would be immediately reassigned to other, more cooperative hospitals. Any fees you would receive for their care, would, of course, be transferred to the receiving institutions." Annie paused and took a more condoling tone. "Now, do you really want to be responsible for the kind of fallout an unecessary delay might provoke?"

"Well, I don't know..."

"No, of course you don't. That's perfectly understandable. And the fact is, that everything is probably in perfect order. I'm sure your patients are receiving the very best of care, but bureaucracy being what it is, the State requires us to conduct these surprise inspections."

"I need to see your badge again."

Annie held it out, fervently hoping Cooper's cobbling job held up in the dim light.

The man examined the badge intently, turning it over this way and that, then gave it back. "You'll all have to sign in."

"Of course," Annie replied, smiling sweetly as she stepped past the guard. Her team followed closely. "You'll all have to wait in the break room and answer questions for Mr. Davis here, while we go through the building. It shouldn't take long."

"I don't know about that..."

"That _is_ standard procedure...," she peered at the name embroidered on the man's shirt pocket," ... Warren. These men know what they're doing. And this _is _the third facility we've inspected today. Take a break. It'll be quicker if your crew isn't milling about, asking questions, getting in our way. You know how it is. One hour and we'll be done. Your boss will have our report in a week. Now if you'll show us to the admissions office."

Warren gave Annie a dubious look, but shrugged and led her to the main desk. "I'll be down the hall if you need me."

The team waited until Warren disappeared down the hallway. Cooper pulled a tablet from inside his jacket.

"Graham, where'd he go?" Cameron asked.

Cooper pulled up the blueprints Barber had sent him. "Break room," he answered, smiling.

Cameron grinned at Annie. "Damn it, Walker, you _are _good. You and Auggie must make quite a pair."

Annie furrowed her brow. "I told you, we're not a pair. He's just my handler. He watches over plenty of other field officers."

"Then let's make sure he gets back to them. Okay, team. We have fifty-five minutes to get the job done. Davis, you go with Warren and round up the staff. Scott, Doc, I'm with you and we'll secure the building. Cooper, Annie, get into the network and locate Auggie. Got it?

The rest of the team nodded.

"Okay then. Let's do this thing."

* * *

><p>"We're here."<p>

"Wait." Auggie said, and held up a hand. He pressed an ear to the door. Nothing. "Okay, but go in slowly. I don't suppose you're armed?"

"Not unless you count an empty syringe."

"Be careful. I'll be right behind you. I'd go in first, but I think it's probably best if a guy with working eyes is the first one through the door."

Allen pushed the door and entered with cautious steps. "Clear... I think," he whispered. "Tomacek is still on the floor."

"Alive?"

"I don't know." Allen seemed frozen in place. Auggie released the doctor's arm, and moved forward into the room. He stopped a few steps later when his cane hit something soft but unyielding. "Tomacek?"

"Yeah."

He crouched down, found Tomacek's hand, and followed his arm to his shoulder and then neck. He pressed against the artery until he found the man's pulse. It beat slowly beneath his fingertips, but though the rhythm was weak, it was steady. "He's alive." He heard Allen breathe a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you're pleased, now find what you need and let's get out of here."

He heard Allen fumble for his keys and a clatter as they slipped from his fingers. "Shit!"

"Need help?"

"Another hand would help."

Auggie zeroed in on the spot where he'd heard the keys hit the floor. He picked them up and handed them to Allen. "With two eyes and three hands between us we should manage."

Allen unlocked the cabinet. A moment later, Auggie heard the sound of ripping paper, followed closely by a groan of frustration. "I can't do this."

Auggie reached over. "I'll do it," he said reaching out a hand/ "Just tell me when to stop."

Allen handed him the supplies and talked him through the steps. "

"Right," Auggie said when the syringe held the correct dose. "So where do you want it?"

"What? You're not going to -"

"You don't trust a blind guy with sharp objects? Don't worry, I could do this with my eyes shut. Vein or muscle?" Allen didn't answer. "Hey, doc, where do you want the shot? Seriously, I can do this, but I'll need a little guidance."

"Muscle," Allen replied with more than a hint of trepidation in his voice.

A moment later it was over. "All done," Auggie said, grinning. "Where do you keep your superhero band-aids?"

"Fresh out, I'm afraid," Allen said and fell silent.

Auggie heard a sliding, rustling sound followed by a soft thud. "Doc?"

"Just resting a little," he answered, his voice coming from much lower.

"Don't pass out on me. I don't want you leaving me alone with Tomacek."

Tomacek groaned at the sound of his name. Both men spun round.

"You know," Allen said quietly, "if you wanted to ask him a question or two, now would be the perfect time."

Auggie's face lit up. "Really? How long do we have?"

"Not sure. But he's got enough babble juice in his system that he'd give you his mother's social security number and credit card information without the slightest hesitation."

Auggie smiled as he considered the possibilities. "Is there any sort of recording device in here?"

"Not that I can tell."

Auggie returned to the prone man, and began searching his clothing.

"What are you doing?"

Auggie didn't answer at once, but a moment later, he gave a cry of triumph. "Bingo!" He pulled a phone from Tomacek's pocket, his smile growing broader as he pressed his thumb against an indentation on the front of the device.

"Voiceover activated."

He brushed his fingers over the screen, as a mechanical voice announced the various apps. He stopped when he found the voice recorder. He tapped it twice to engage it. "Okay, now we're in business." He moved over to the drugged operative. "Interrogation of secret operative Tomacek." He held his hand over the mic. "What's today's date?"

"November twenty-third."

"Interrogation of secret operative Tomacek, November twenty-third, two-thousand-eleven. Mr. Tomacek, state your full name and employer for the record."

A groggy voice answered without hesitation. "John David Tomacek. I work for Henry Wilcox and the Central Intelligence Agency."

* * *

><p>"Find anything on your end?" Annie asked Cooper as she rifled through a row of file cabinets.<p>

Cooper didn't look up from the computer. "Working on it, but it's going to take me a while longer to get through their security."

"Well, there's nothing in here," Annie said, shutting the cabinet drawer. "I'm going to check the closet. Annie opened the door and stopped in her tracks. "Cooper?

"Yeah," he answered absently.

"You need to check this out."

Instead of the small storage area she'd been expecting to see, a long narrow room stretched out before her, as if once it had been a hallway, but had been closed off at some point in the building's past. Each side was lined with floor to ceiling shelves filled with file boxes. Cooper joined her and they made their way down the aisle.

Annie pulled out a box, lifted off the lid. Inside was a wallet of stiff, cracked leather, a cigarette case and a Zippo lighter. She opened the wallet and carefully pulled out a yellowed card. "Wisconsin driver's license. 1971. Military I.D. Corporal James Phillip Read. I wonder who he was and what happened to him."

Cooper shrugged. "I can run a check through the data bases," he said, and typed a quick command into his tablet. A moment later they had their answer. "James Phillip Read. Born March 13, 1943, died October 27, 1974."

"Does it say how?" Annie asked.

"Says here that he drowned. No details."

He checked the neighboring boxes. "They're all from the same time period, and filed chronologically. My guess is that these were all Viet Nam servicemen."

"Early sixties," Annie called out, moving farther away. "Late fifties."

Cooper inspected the other side. "Late seventies, Central America here, and some other places I don't think we were ever supposed to be."

"I've got some newer things here," Annie called out, a short time later. She made her way to the last shelf of boxes, pulled out a box and yanked off the lid. Inside was a familiar leather messenger bag. Annie emptied out its contents into the box, and froze. A leather billfold and an assortment of various bits of tech, a compass of sorts, note cards, a wrist watch, batteries, bits of string and a piece of chalk. And it the middle of it all, a Braille slate and a blind man's white cane. This could only belong to one man. She reached for the wallet and pulled out a worn and faded photo. She was staring at it, dumbstruck, when Cooper reached her side.

"Auggie's stuff?"

She nodded and slipped the photo back into the wallet. Raising her head, she took in the scores of boxes lining the walls. "We need to find Auggie," she said and started packing his belongings. She grabbed his bag and slung it over her shoulder. "We need to get him back to D.C. so that he can testify against whoever's behind this and close this place down."

_To be continued_

_Thanks for reading._


	20. Hard Evidence

_Thank-you again for all of your lovely reviews. _

_This chapter gave me a hard time. Things are wrapping up and there's so much I needed to include this time around. I hope I haven't confused you too much. If I have, drop me a note, and I'll try to make things clear._

_This long, convoluted epic is drawing to a close. One more chapter, an epilogue, and a historical note should do it. As per my usual modus operandi, I'm posting this, as is, typos and all, and will let it settle for a day or two, then come back to make corrections. _

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter Nineteen: Hard Evidence**

They should have left five minutes ago.

When Tomacek had stopped talking, and slipped into a deeper sleep, they should have tied him up and left. This wasn't Auggie's first chemically enhanced interrogation and even though it had been a while, he knew how the scene would play out. Another few minutes and Tomacek would start waking. First he'd squirm, then he'd probably start thrashing about out and become combative. If this were Langley and he was talking one of his operatives through this kind of situation, he'd have long since told them to high tail it out of there. If Annie were here in his place, he'd be going ballistic. In this job, timing really was everything, and it was past time they left.

But the possibility of prying just one more answer out of Tomacek was so tempting. For nearly forty minutes he'd prodded, pried, cajoled and threatened, questioning and cross questioning. And Tomacek had talked. Slowly, piece by piece, he had revealed a tangled web of lies, deception, and deceit, all couched in ruthless ambition.

Without hesitation, Tomacek - in his drugged state- had revealed details, playbooks, and objectives. He'd answered all of Auggie's questions save one, the question that had haunted Auggie for the last five years: why? When pressed for a final answer, Tomacek had fallen silent.

Auggie waited a while longer, tightly clutching the phone, wondering if he could coax anything else out of Tomacek. There was plenty here to seal Henry Wilcox's fate, but Tomacek's answers only led to more questions. Mirrors in mirrors.

Auggie waiting a short while longer, then, resigned, sank back on his heels and turned off the phone's voice recorder app. It was clear that Tomacek was done. Nothing more would come without additional chemical assistance.

They really needed to get out of here. Even if there were no cameras in this room, he knew that sooner rather than later, someone was going to notice that neither he nor Dr. Allen were where they were supposed to be.

Auggie raised his head, searching the silence. The only sounds were the slow and rhythmic breathing of the sedated man before him, and Allen's quicker, shallower breaths on the other side of the room.

"That's one hell of a narrative," Allen offered.

"I'm pretty sure you weren't cleared to hear that, Doc."

"So now you have to kill me?"

Auggie gave a small smirk. "You wish. When you're into your thirty-seventh debriefing and fifty-second polygraph you'll be begging for a quick death." Auggie paused. "You think he's telling the truth?"

"You're the spy. I thought you were trained to pick up on these things."

Auggie shrugged."My skill at reading faces isn't what it used to be. You're the shrink. What do you think?"

"The drugs aren't an assurance of the truth. They only removes barriers: anxiety, fear of consequences. Without fear of consequences, what would he gain by lying?"

"I don't know. Just trying to plan for every possibility." He rubbed a hand through his hair as if he might scrub away the last of the drugs' lingering effects. Tomacek was still breathing quietly. "How long before he wakes up."

"Not long."

"Can you give him another shot?"

"Bad idea. He needs to sleep this off. It's a miracle he survived the shot I gave him. I doubt he'll remember any of this."

"Lucky for us we have this," Auggie said waving the phone. "And we need to get out of here." Auggie reached for his cane and pushed himself to his feet. He steadied himself against the wall until the floor stopped swaying. "

"You okay? You've turned an interesting shade of green. You need to sleep those drugs off, too."

"I'll sleep when this is all over." Auggie closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall. He should have known better than to jump to his feet that way. He should have remembered. Suppressing a shiver, he took several deep gulps of air and to quell the surging wave of queasiness. Funny how the color green took on a whole different meaning when you couldn't actually remember what it looked like. Try as he might, he couldn't remember the color of trees, grass, and Granny Smith apples, but he had no trouble remembering the debilitating nausea and dizziness that had laid him flat for nearly a year after Tikrit. That was what "green" meant to him now. He hated that color.

He took a few more breaths, pushed himself away from the wall. "I'm okay now," he said, and shook open his cane. "You good to go?"

"No."

"What?"

"I'll tell you how to find the offices."

"I can find the offices, eventually. That's not the point." Auggie could hear the pain and exhaustion in the man's voice. If Tomacek awoke and was combative, there'd be little Allen could do to defend himself against 250 lbs of pissed spy. "I'm not leaving you here alone with him."

"You're going to have to, Anderson. I can't go any further. So tired... can't see straight."

Okay, Auggie thought, on to Plan B. He needed to find a computer. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, he needed to call in to Langley, by phone. Get Tomacek's intel to Joan. Then Barber could help him with the computers. If could find the offices. He'd need help to get there, but he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. He had a few things to take care of first.

He swung his cane wide and crossed the small room. Reaching the wall, he took three steps, then turned and crossed again. He frowned when his cane struck the opposite wall. "Hey, Doc," he called.

"Huh? What?"

"You falling asleep?"

"Sorry. It's the morphine."

"Is that gurney still around here?"

"Yeah, it's up against the wall. About... about ten feet kind of behind you..."

"Clockface?"

Allen roused himself again. "Your uh ...your seven... no, five o'clock, 'bout ten feet."

Auggie found the gurney and moved to one end. "Doc, don't fall asleep on me. I need you for one more thing, okay? I need you to keep talking, and tell me when to stop, so I don't run into you."

"Yeah, okay. I don't need the gurney. Floor's fine."

Auggie grinned and carefully moved the gurney across the room. "It's not for you. It's for our friend. There are restraints on this thing. Am I getting close?"

"Okay, stop," Allen said and grabbed one of the legs. There are brakes over each wheel."

"Even better," Auggie smiled, and pressed down the brakes, then turned and listened again until he pinpointed the sound of Tomacek's breathing. He swung 'round with his cane until it struck. Tomacek grunted.

"Hurry, he's waking up."

Auggie took two steps, then picked up Tomacek and heaved him over his shoulder. His knees buckled slightly. Damn, the guy needed to go on a diet. "Doc, a little help!"

"Five feet straight ahead."

Auggie dropped his load on the gurney, and quickly fastened the restraints around his wrists and ankles. Tomacek squirmed a little, but wasn't alert enough to put up a real fight.

He turned and ran his cane against the wall until he found the counter. He explored the boxes and canisters, then reached up to the cabinets and examined the contents as best he could.

"What are you looking for?"

"Rolls of gauze, tape..."

"There's nothing like that here. Like I said, this isn't much of a hospital."

"Yeah, even I can see that. I want something to keep him from raising his head.

Allen looked around. "He's wearing a belt."

"Perfect!"

But the belt was too short, and wouldn't reach all the way under the gurney.

Allen pushed himself up straighter, his shoes skidding against the linoleum tiles.

Auggie's eyes grew wide as he turned towards the sound. "What are you wearing on your feet?"

"Loafers, why?"

Auggie moved the other end of the gurney. "Bingo!" He began unlacing the man's shoes. He looped the laces through the buckle and holes then prepared to immobilize Tomacek's head.

"What the hell?" Tomacek yelled and thrashed about.

Auggie spun around, and with one hand, he located Tomacek's face. With the other, he delivered a solid punch, knocking the man out. "That was a little too close for comfort."

He looped the belt and laces over Tomacek's head, and tied them securely in place. It wasn't perfect, and Auggie only hoped that in his post sedation, possibly concussed confusion, it would be enough to hold him. "I don't know how long he'll be out, but he shouldn't be able to move when he does wake up. All we need now is a gag."

Allen didn't speak, but Auggie smiled as he heard a shoe come off. "Your sock?"

Allen placed the sock in Auggie's hand. Auggie moved back over to Tomacek's side and stuffed the sock in his mouth, and gave his cheek a friendly slap. "Do you still have his gun?"

"Yeah. You want it?"

"It's probably best if you do the shooting." Auggie's quip was met with silence. He turned and crouched down by Allen's side. "Listen, I know what you're thinking, but I know what kind of man Tomacek is. I've dealt with his type before and the people he works for. He will not hesitate to kill you or anyone who gets in his way. He's already shot you once. If it looks like he's getting free, if you think you're in danger, don't hesitate to shoot. Understood?"

Allen swallowed hard and nodded. "Understood."

I just need two more things from you. I want you to speak the directions to the offices, and to the patient rooms into the recorder. And I need your keys."

Allen lifted a lanyard over his head. "It's just one key and a fob. The key opens all of the patient rooms. The fob unlocks the offices. You going out there alone?"

"Unless you've changed your mind?" Allen said nothing. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Allen recorded the directions and handed the phone back to Auggie. "Good luck," he said, and touched the phone to the back of Auggie's hand.

"Good. Now I need to step outside and make a phone call. Remember what I told you.

Auggie gave the doctor's good shoulder a squeeze and stepped out of the room. He turned to the right, and followed the wall to the first door. He jiggled the handle and to his surprise it turned. Cautiously, he stepped inside. A grin spread over his features. Perfect he thought. A custodial closet. He set his cane against the wall and punched a familiar number into Tomacek's phone.

* * *

><p>A quiet knock sounded at Joan's door. She looked up to see her husband leaning against the frame.<p>

"You didn't need to come in." She stretched and rose to meet him.

"I couldn't sleep. Figured I might be of some use here."

"You should get some rest. It's going to be a long day."

"I'm used to dealing with politicians. I'll simply tell them the truth."

Joan cast her husband a quizzical look.

"A version of the truth," he explained. "Something kind of like the truth...-ish. Anything new from Auggie or the team?"

"Annie got everyone inside without incident. Under the guise of a Health Department inspection team."

"And they bought it? She's good."

"She's reckless and takes too many chances."

"But this time it paid off."

"It usually does." Joan sighed. Now was not the time to try to persuade Arthur to rein in Annie's unpredictable nature. "Annie's with Cooper. Curtis has the rest of his team in place. They're ready for a medical evacuation and just waiting for Auggie's signal."

Arthur nodded. "So we wait."

Hand in hand, Joan and Arthur stepped out onto the mezzanine overlooking the department. The DPD was quiet tonight. The giant screens surrounding the bullpen showed newscasts from the BBC, Deutche Welle, Al-Jazeera, and Xinhua, but the sound was muted and no one was paying much attention to the talking heads from the world's top news agencies. In the far corner, Millie and Patrick were conferring over a map of Brazil. They looked up and smiled when they felt Joan and Arthur's gaze on them. Behind closed doors in Tech Ops, Eric and Stu were having a good natured discussion, with laughter and lots of gesturing on Eric's part. Joan winced as one expansive gesture set his coffee teetering. Thankfully, this time, he managed to catch it before it toppled to the floor.

Stu, tidy to a fault, never a hair out of place, was shaking-his-head while grinning broadly at his boss. Said boss shot his subaltern a murderous glance. Joan thought of them as the Oscar and Felix of the division, and could just imagine the conversation.

Their banter came to a sudden halt, as both ops raised their heads in tandem. Barber wheeled his chair around, and shoved off to the far side of the office, paused briefly with his hand on the telephone, then picked up. Stu cast a worried glance up towards the mezzanine.

"It's Auggie," Joan said, not really knowing how she knew, and flew down the steps, with Arthur following closely.

" -apeake Music Appreciation Society," Barber answered, his affable features suddenly all business. "How may I direct your call?" He nodded at his superiors. "One moment please, Mr. Mingus, while I connect you to our jazz resource department." He pushed a few buttons. "Okay, Auggie, go ahead. You're on a secure line. Joan and Arthur are here, just so you know."

"Great, bring me up on the speaker."

Joan crossed over to the desk. "Auggie, are you alright? You requested a medical extraction."

"I'm fine, Joan, but my asset, one of the psychiatrists was shot. It's not a life-threatening injury, and I've stabilized him as best I can, but he's in a lot of pain."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine. I'm okay." His voice said otherwise.

"Auggie?"

He hesitated, but only for a moment. "It's been a rough couple of weeks, but I'm okay... I'm good to complete my mission. I don't have a lot of time. Barber, I have some intel on Tomacek's phone. I need you to download it via a secure channel. Do we have one that's open?"

Barber typed a code into his computer, spelling it out to Auggie as he typed. "You need me to repeat that?"

"No, I got it."

"Then, you're good to go." At once a series of tones came through the speaker.

"Here it comes," said Stu from his desk.

At once, Auggie's voice was heard on one set of speakers, "Interrogation of secret operative -" while simultaneously on the phone line he hissed, "Turn down the volume on your computer, Barber!"

Joan and Arthur exchanged glances and smiled.

* * *

><p>Annie adjusted the strap of Auggie's messenger bag, and turned to the door.<p>

"Hold on," Graham said. "We can't just leave this here."

Annie took in the room and the massive quantity of materials. It would take an evidence team a full day to pack up everything. She reached into the side pocket of her pack, and drew out a camera. She took several photos of the room, then spread the contents of one of the file boxes onto the floor, and took close-up shots of the documents, and other belongings. On the other side of the room, Graham began doing the same thing.

"We can't record everything, but if we get a couple of people per decade, it should be enough to start with. Langley will send in a team to get the rest of the evidence."

* * *

><p>"Where's Tomacek now?" Arthur asked.<p>

"He's neutralized and secured. He's not going anywhere."

"Good work, Auggie," Arthur said. "Stay where you are. The extraction team is in the building. Just tell us where you are."

"Yeah, about that..."

"It's okay," Joan interjected, "just stay put. Eric can put a trace on your phone."

"Look, Joan," Auggie argued, "I don't need an extraction yet. I need to get into the computers. I need to access the facility's records."

"How are you going to do that, Auggie? Do you have your adaptive tech?"

"No, they took it." Auggie gave a frustrated sigh. "Barber can talk me through it."

Joan shook her head. "That'll take too long. Let the team handle that part."

"Stand down, Auggie," Arthur insisted. "You've done great work. Let the team take it from here."

"Sir, we can't send in the cavalry just yet. I'm guessing that whoever is manning the computers is going to hit the "delete" button at the first hint of discovery. I need to get to those files before the team comes storming in."

"Let someone else handle it, Auggie," Arthur insisted. "Cooper is on the team. He can handle it."

"Sir, I can do this."

"Let Cooper do it," Joan said."

"Coop's good, but he doesn't have my way with passwords or encryptions. Joan, you've got to let me take a shot at it. If I can't - "

"Then it might be too late! How long do you think it'll be before they figure out someone's trying to hack into their system. You can't take that sort of chance."

"Anderson," Arthur said. "I'm ordering you to stand down. Let Cooper do it."

Auggie paused briefly. "I'm sorry, sir. I need to do this."

"Auggie!" Joan and Arthur said in unison.

"I've got to go." And the line went dead.

* * *

><p>That definitely could have gone better. Auggie forced himself to take a deep calming breath and replay what had just happened. Five years ago, they would have let him run his op as he saw fit. They never would have questioned his abilities if he'd still had his sight. He wanted to throw the phone through the wall, hit something. He could do neither. He had to get moving, but he had to do so calmly. Anger made people do stupid things. He needed to be calm and clear-witted before he stepped out of this supply closet.<p>

He surveyed the closet. Again he breathed deeply, this time sifting through the layers of scents that reached him. Cleaning products, and a faint mouldy smell, but behind that, there was a dry, detergent and fabric smell. Linens! He took a few steps to the left, fervently hoping he wouldn't knock over a mop or spill a bucket. His cane struck metal. Extending his hand, he found metal shelves, and on them, neatly folded scrubs.

Quickly he changed out of the blood-soaked trousers, and slipped into a clean set of scrubs. He felt around a bit more in the hope of finding some shoes. There were none. Damn! He hated walking around this place barefoot.

He was about to step out of the closet when a thought occurred to him. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he could risk flying solo, but quickly realizing that Joan and Arthur had left him no other option. With nimble, practiced fingers, he pried open the back of the phone, and pulled out the battery and slipped it loosely into the phone's case. Without power, any tracking software Barber had likely loaded onto the phone would be rendered useless. He dropped the battery into a bucket, and tucked the phone into his waistband. Then slipping out of the closet, he quickly made his way down the corridor, in search of the nearest stairwell.

* * *

><p>"Damn it!" Arthur fumed, and looked around for something to throw. "Barber, can you pinpoint his phone's location?"<p>

"Already on it, sir." Barber pulled up the plan of the facility. A blinking green light showed the location of the phone Auggie had been using. Other lights, in blue, red, and yellow blinked alone and in pairs in various locations.

"That's the extraction team?"

"Yes, sir. In blue. And Annie's phone is yellow."

"Call the team and give them Anderson's location."

Eric looked over at Joan.

"Barber, I said call the rest of the team."

"Eric, call Annie first," Joan said. "She'll relay orders."

"Annie Walker? Really, Joan? You think Annie Walker is going to persuade Auggie Anderson to follow orders?"

"If anyone can, she will. Annie will keep him out of trouble."

"I seriously doubt that." Arthur walked away. He slid the glass door, stopped, and turned. "Barber, I want the transcript of that interrogation on my desk within the hour."

Joan watched him leave and turned back to the two men. "You heard the DCS. Stu, get to work on the transcript. Eric, call Annie."

* * *

><p>"You almost done?" Cooper asked, surveying the damage.<p>

"Yeah, just let me get a picture of this guy's file and belongings from 1979."

Cooper cast a slow glance around the room. The place looked like tornado had struck. For the last thirty minutes, he and Annie had pulled boxes out for each year of the program, emptied them out on floors and tables and photographed files and evidence. What they'd found had made him sick to his stomach. While there hadn't been time to read the details of each file, he'd gleaned enough to know that these men had endured terrible wrongs.

"Done," Annie said, stuffing her camera into her bag. "Let's go find Auggie."

Her hand was on the door knob when her phone vibrated. Throwing Cooper a silencing glance, she rolled up her trouser leg, and drew a phone from her sock. "Yes?"

"Annie, it's Eric. We just got a message from Auggie."

"Is he okay?"

"Joan wants to talk to you."

Annie's heart sank. What had happened that Barber couldn't tell her?

Joan came on the line. "Annie, are you alone?"

"Cooper's with me."

"Joan?" Barber interrupted.

Joan held up a hand. "Annie, I need you to meet up with Auggie. He's about to make a huge mistake."

"What's going on, Joan? What kind of mistake?"

"Joan? This is important," Barber insisted.

Joan shot Barber an icy glare. "The kind of mistake that could end his career. Eric will give you his coordinates. You need to intercept him and get back to me."

Barber spoke up, "Joan, that's what I've been trying to tell you. I don't have a trace on Auggie anymore. The phone he called on just died."

Auggie raced up the two flights of stairs and waited by the double doors that Allen had told him led to the patient rooms. He listened closely for the sound of movement on the other side, but everything was silent. He nudged the door open and listened again. Nothing. He slipped through the doors, and paused to get his bearings. The corridor had a vaguely familiar feeling to it, an unsettling aroma of sweat and chemicals that he hadn't really noticed until given the opportunity to breathe cleaner air. He was pretty sure he was in the same area he'd been kept in since he'd arrived, though, admittedly, he wasn't the best judge of that. He took a breath, and quickly made his way down one side of the hallway.

Time was of the essence. Allen had told him there were security cameras watching each hall and all of the patient rooms. While whoever was monitoring the camera feeds wouldn't question a blind guy walking down the hall with a member of the staff, a blind guy walking alone, that could raise a few questions.

In a perfect world, he would have made his way straight to the first floor administrative wing, but he was enough of a realist to know that he couldn't work the computers without someone else's eyes. In all this building, he knew there were only three people who could help him get what he needed. One was probably in a morphine-induced stupor, one was paired with a special ops team sent to bring him home, and one, like him, was bent on revenge on the assholes who were running this operation. He had to find the third guy. He had to find Tommy Marcus before anyone came to investigate.

* * *

><p>"Understood, Joan."<p>

"Good. Eric will give you Auggie's last coordinates. Find him and his asset. Technically, this is still his op. He'll be angry and uncooperative. You have to persuade him to turn the technical side of the mission over to Cooper."

Annie shook her head. "Why, Joan? You know there's no one better than him at code busting. If we can be his eyes..."

Joan sighed. "Annie, whoever is behind this will have set safeguards in place. The likeliest outcome is that any files we could use will be automatically scrambled or even deleted as soon as an unauthorized entry is detected. We're going to have only one chance."

"Which is why we should let Auggie do it."

"Auggie is...Auggie isn't himself. He may have been drugged. He's certainly sleep deprived. His skills may be compromised. Besides, he doesn't have his adaptive equipment -"

"I have it here, Joan. I found his Braille display. It was with the rest of his things in a storage room. There's a room full of files and belongings... Anyway, if Auggie can If he can hook it up to the computer, he can hack his way into their system, get the intel, and be out again before anyone notices he was there."

"Annie..." Joan hesitated. "...If this goes south, it's not just you this time. It's you, Auggie, the Special Ops team, and all the people being held there. We all have skin in this game, Annie. We fail... we fall flat on our faces... and the Bureau gets the vindication they've been craving since the Hansen fiasco. Consider very carefully what you're asking me to authorize."

"Joan, we can do this."

"Okay," Joan replied after a long moment of silence. "Okay, but be careful, and don't get caught."

* * *

><p>Auggie knocked against the third door. "Tommy, you in there?"<p>

"Get the hell away from my door, before I set my dogs on you!"

Auggie was pretty sure the guy didn't have any dogs. He was also pretty sure the guy wasn't Tommy. He hurried on to the next room, and pounded on the door. "Tommy?"

Nothing. He pressed an ear to the door. Nothing. He fitted the key to the door, and quietly turned the handle. "Tommy?" Still nothing. He closed the door and quickly moved on to the next room.

* * *

><p>Sam Barragan returned from the break room, and set her coffee on the desk. She glanced up at the bank of television monitors. The administrative wing was deserted, except for the lounge where the State inspectors were conducting interviews with the night staff. The patients all appeared to be in their rooms, sleeping, pacing, one of them sitting on the edge of his bunk, holding his head in his hands and rocking back and forth.<p>

She was reaching into her bag for the tablet she'd brought to pass the time when a figure moved across one of the third floor screens.

Someone was walking down the third floor hallway. A custodian, right? She increased the magnification. That wasn't a custodian. What she'd taken for a broom, was some kind of long stick. A cane. A blind man's white cane! It was the blind guy, Patient Sixty, and he was walking down the hallway!

Maybe he was sleepwalking? Surely that was a possibility given the intensive treatments he'd received. Maybe they'd forgotten to lock his door. She peered more closely at the screen, wondering if she should alert the night orderly. She watched as Patient Sixty knocked on a door and jiggled the handle. She magnified the screen even more and watched him turn a key in the lock and slowly open the door.

She made the call.

* * *

><p>"Graham, if you were Auggie, what's the first thing you would do?"<p>

"I'd get to a computer," Cooper replied.

"How would you find the computer if you couldn't see? And assuming you did find one, how would you read the information on the screen?"

"I'd try to find someone to help me?"

"Auggie has to convince someone to go with him."

"His asset is injured. He needs to find someone else to help him in a very short time."

"He won't ask the staff," Graham offered.

"He's going to find a fellow vet. We need to get to the patient rooms."

"The patient rooms are on the third floor."

Annie gave Cooper a sly half grin. "Then what are we waiting for?"

* * *

><p>"Tommy, you in there?"<p>

"What? No, go away! I'm tired. I want to sleep.

Auggie hurried to unlock the door. He ducked into the room. "Tommy! It's me, Auggie."

"No, you're not real. They transported Auggie back home. You're not real."

Auggie followed Tommy's voice to the bed. He ran his hands up the soldier's arms, and gently gripped his shoulders. "Tommy, wake up, man. It's me, Auggie."

A hand fastened about his wrist. "Auggie? What are you doing here?"

"They grabbed me at work, remember? I've been here a while. Not exactly sure how long. A few weeks. Not as long as you."

"Yeah, I've been here a while." The bed springs squealed as he sat up. "How'd you find me?"

"Just happened to be in the neighborhood. C'mon, Tommy, get up. We've got to get downstairs to the offices. I need your help with the computers."

"How'd you find me?" he repeated. "They told me you were blind."

"Tommy. Don't you remember?"

"Sorry, man. My mind's a little fuzzy. The old memory vault developed a few cracks."

"I'm going to get us out of here, Tommy. But I can't see and I need your help to do it. We've got to get to the computers. If I can access the data base, we can get everyone out of here."

"I can't. I have to stay here. They told me I had to wait here until they come for me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I got orders, see?" he said, and rustled a paper in front of Auggie's face.

"No, Tommy, I don't see. That's why I need your help." Auggie found the paper and crumpled it into a ball which he tossed across the room. "I'm pretty sure those weren't orders."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Tommy, you don't have to do what they say."

"I dunno..."

"Remember the first rule when taken prisoner?"

"Eat everything they give you?"

Auggie couldn't help but laugh. "I always thought it was 'do whatever it takes to escape, but maybe they gave you a different rule book."

"Probably."

"Tommy, there's a team of good guys on site, looking to extract us. We're getting out soon, but before we do, I need to get to a computer, and hack into the data base. Can you help me do that? "

"We're getting out?"

"Yeah, we're getting out. A couple of hours tops, and we'll be on our way home."

"You sure?"

"I told you I'd get us out. This is it. We're going home, but I need you to help me with something first. Okay?"

"Okay. Let's do what you need to do, and then hit the road."

Auggie pulled Tommy to his feet and latched onto his arm. He half-followed, half-pushed him towards the door. "Wait," he ordered and eased it open a crack. He listened hard, and quickly shut it again.

"What's wrong?"

"Frank's coming."

"Frank?"

"The orderly. The big guy. That's what I call him. I dunno what his real name is. Is there somewhere to hide?"

"In here?"

"That would be best."

"Get behind the door."

"Throw something over the camera then get into bed and pretend to be asleep. When he gets close, we grab him. Got it?"

Tommy gave no audible answer, but his bare feet slapped across the room and back again. The bed springs gave a satisfying squeak.

Slow, heavy footsteps stopped on the other side of the door. Auggie set down his cane and pressed himself flat against the wall. A key jiggled in the lock, and the handle began to turn, then stopped. A woman's voice crackled on the static.

A woman's voice crackled through the static. "The camera just died. I think Patient Fifty-Two threw a towel or something over it."

"Okay."

"And remember, he's got company."

"I didn't forget."

"And don't forget the State's here for their inspection."

The orderly gave an exaggerated sigh, "Got it," he said.

The door swung open. For a moment, Auggie was worried Frank would open the door all the way, slamming it into his face or feet, but it stopped short.

"Marcus, out of bed."

"I'm tired. I want to sleep," Tommy answered in a groggy voice.

"C'mon, get up!'

Auggie stepped out from behind the door and quickly closed the distance between the wall and the bed. But Tommy was quicker. There was a grunt, the sounds of a brief a scuffle, and a sickening crunch. A body fell heavily to the floor.

"Tommy!"

"He's down and out! I'm okay. He'll be breathing through his mouth for a while though."

Auggie made his way across the room, and crouched down to feel the man's pulse. Tommy packed a hell of a punch, but at least the guy wasn't dead. He found his radio, and removed the battery. "Find something to tie him up with... and something else to cover the cameras in the halls."

"And then?"

"And then," Auggie grinned, "we shut this place down."

"Saving the world again?"

"Just like old times."

* * *

><p>Sam Barragan punched in a command. The room camera was out. She shifted her gaze to the hallway monitor, and saw the two patients exiting the room carrying a small bundle. Patient Sixty leaned against the wall while Patient Fifty-Two made his way toward the hallway camera. He disappeared from view as he passed beneath the camera. She typed in a quick command. The camera turned, and the image on the monitor disappeared. A moment later, it went from white to static.<p>

She stared at the monitor in stunned silence, but only for a second. She tried the custodian's radio again, but he wasn't answering.

Chewing on a nail, she wondered what to do next. There was a procedure to follow when this sort of thing occurred, but it seemed a little extreme for just two guys, especially seeing how one of them was blind. She reached for the crisis management binder standing by the phone, and flipped through the pages. She'd call Dr. Allen. It was late, but he hadn't signed out yet. Sometimes he just crashed on the couch in his office. She called his number. He'd know what to do.

* * *

><p>Annie raced up the stairs, and charged at the stairway door. Cooper grabbed her by the shoulders. "Wait!" he hissed, yanking her back from the door. "Let's make sure the way's clear."<p>

Cooper shot a quick glance through the window, then eased the door open. Holding a silencing finger to his lips, he pointed to the far end of the corridor and to a camera with wires dangling.

"What is that?" she whispered.

"That's a sign that your friend was here," Cooper grinned.

They moved silently through the hall, and stopped beneath what they now saw was a length of torn sheeting. Annie reached up, but Cooper grabbed her hand and shook his head. "It's a camera. I don't know how this Auggie guy did it, but he found the camera and disabled it."

Annie gave a crooked smile. "Looks to me like he found that friend we were talking about. We need to go back downstairs."

"But we just got here."

"And he just left."

* * *

><p>"Jesus, Auggie!" Barber muttered in frustration. Everywhere else him in the DPD, the quiet routine of the graveyard shift continued uninterrupted. But behind the glass walls of Tech Ops, the level of frustration had reached the boiling point. "He's gone full stealth mode. Catching anything at your end, Stu?"<p>

Stu shook his head, his fingers flying across the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Joan crossed the room, turned and walked back. "The rest of the team still radio silent?"

"They're not gonna check in before hitting the finish line," Barber answered.

"Where are they now?"

Barber checked the blinking lights. "Flynn and Cameron are on the first floor, watching the exits. Davis and Scott and in the employee lounge, and Annie and Cooper in the north stairwell."

Joan ceased her pacing, and pulled up a chair in between Barber and Stu and settled in for a long night of waiting.

* * *

><p>"Doctor Richard Allen is not available to take your call. If this is a medical emergency..."<p>

Sam Barragan slammed the phone down in frustration. What the hell was he doing? She flipped through the binder again. There was another number. The guy in the suit had penciled it with the imperative to use it in case of emergency. He'd stood behind the bank of monitors, saying nothing, and left hours later without ever having said a word.

She dialed the number and waited. It rang.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Wilcox? My name is Sam...Samantha Barragan. I work at your Albion Group facility in Colorado. We may have a situation here."

* * *

><p>"All clear," Tommy said, and he led Auggie into the office wing.<p>

Auggie stepped into the room, and noticed a difference under his feet. "Carpet. Perfect." The pair moved silently through the administrative suites. "Tell me what you're seeing, Tommy. Any cameras?"

Tommy turned on the light and scanned the room. "Not that I can tell. But no computers either. We're in a sort of conference room, long table, lots of chairs. There's a door at each end."

Auggie pointed in the general direction of one of the doors. "Let's go see what's behind Door Number Two."

"Gimme a second," and he set Auggie's hand on the back of a chair. He was back a moment later. "We can't go in there."

"Why not?"

"Looks like there's a staff meeting going on. Let's try Door Number Three instead."

"Lead on."

* * *

><p>"Do not leave the building!" Henry Wilcox commanded. "Secure the exits. I'll have a team there in ten minutes. Understood?"<p>

"Understood, sir. But a whole team, sir?"

"These are two extremely dangerous men, Miss Barragan. The most disturbed patients in the facility. Patient Sixty's case is still classified, but suffice it to say he killed his entire unit in Iraq. These measures are in place to ensure your safety and everyone else's. Now, do you have a weapon?"

Sam opened a desk drawer. There beneath a stack of files was the handgun she'd been taught to use on her first day. "Y..yes, sir."

"Do not hesitate to use it. Is that clear?"

She hesitated. She didn't like the thought of having to shoot patients, especially a blind man, but if what Mr. Wilcox said was true...

"Is that clear, Miss Barragan?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl," Henry Wilcox said, and added. "You did the right thing by calling me, Miss Barragan."

She felt relieved at that and wanted to ask about the inspectors, but he had already ended the call. She took the handgun from the drawer and set it down next to the keyboard. Then she waited.

* * *

><p>Annie peered through the second floor door. "He's not here."<p>

"Camera intact?"

"Yeah."

"That leaves the first floor. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Henry Wilcox muttered a string of curses as he pulled a burner phone from his desk. He dialed a number, and drummed his fingers on the blotter while the phone rang, but there was no answer. He hung up and dialed a second number.<p>

"Close down the Colorado operation," he ordered, when a man answered. "Close it down permanently."

"Understood."

* * *

><p>"I've got good news and bad news," Tommy whispered, as he spied the wall of monitors through the glass.<p>

"Computers?"

"Yeah, and a whole wall of closed circuit TV monitors. And a woman watching them."

"Is this the only way in?"

"There's another door at her three o'clock, but don't get your hopes up. It looks like she's got a gun."

Auggie pursed his lips. "I like a girl who knows how to defend herself," he grinned. "I've got a plan, if you want to get out of here."

"You know I do. Let's hear it."

* * *

><p>Annie stepped into the lounge and smiled. A half-dozen employees wearing scrubs and custodial uniforms sat around tables and watched TV in the lounge, while Davis and Scott moved from person to person, clipboards in hand, asking questions about their work.<p>

"You sure you work for the State?" one woman asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. You need to see my i.d.?" Davis asked, visibly irritated.

"Is there a problem?" Annie asked, reverting to her cover.

"No problem, Dr. Bertrand. Are we almost done here?" Scott asked, moving on to his next subject.

"I'm sure it won't be long," she said, as the pair exchanged glances. "Where does that door lead?"

"A conference room. There's no one there."

Annie gestured to Cooper, and they crossed the room.

* * *

><p>Tommy inched around the monitor bank. Auggie had told him to look confused, out of it. Given his current state of mind, he didn't think that would be too much of a stretch. "S'cuse me, Miss?"<p>

Sam spun her chair around. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for the restroom," Tommy answered.

"What? No. You're not supposed to be here. You need to be back in your room. You can't be in here."

Behind her, the sharp sound of metal striking metal made her spin around and squeak in alarm. Patient Sixty, the blind guy who had murdered his entire unit stood by the door, holding his cane in one hand and the gun in the other.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Auggie said, adjusting his aim to the sound of her movement.

"So why are you pointing a gun at me?" she asked sounding braver than she felt.

"Don't take it personally. For all I know, I could be pointing it at my friend there," he gestured vaguely with the gun. "I'm not here to hurt you," he repeated.

"Yeah? Prove it," she said.

"Okay," Auggie shrugged. He removed the clip and held it out to her. "See?"

She stepped forward to grab the magazine, and as she touched his hand, Auggie spun 'round and wrapped his arm around her neck. A moment later he felt her go limp. "You'll thank me later," he whispered, and set her gently on the ground. "Tommy? The computers."

"Nicely done," Tommy grinned, and led his former boss to the desk.

"It'll be better if you do the typing. Tell me what you see."

Tommy rattled off the items, as Auggie's frown deepened. "We need to get into the root directory"

"I don't know what that is."

Auggie groaned in frustration. He'd thought this would be easier. He hadn't counted on Tommy being nearly computer illiterate. He rubbed a hand through his hair. "Click on "my compu-".

He stopped, and sniffed at the air. Slowly he turned the chair around just as the conference room door opened. A broad smile spread across his features. "So nice of you to drop in, Miss Walker. Who's your friend?"

* * *

><p>"Sit rep!" Henry barked into the phone.<p>

"Ten minutes out, sir."

"You said that ten minutes ago."

"I had to assemble the team. They were at their prayers."

"Midnight prayers now, Adam?

"We always pray before a mission."

"Be there in more than five, and you'll need more than prayers" He hung up and dialed the number of the Colorado facility.

* * *

><p>"Graham Cooper, Sir. Long time no see."<p>

"You're telling me," Auggie quirked. "I heard you hacked into the Iranian Energy Ministry."

"I can't confirm or deny..."

The ringing of a phone interrupted the reunion. "It's probably best to ignore that," Auggie said.

"It could be important," Annie argued, and she picked up the receiver. "Yes?'

"Miss Barragan, is that you?"

Annie's eyes grew wide. "Yes, sir." She gestured for silence and switched the call to the speaker.

"Your voice sounds different."

Auggie's jaw dropped. His suspicions were confirmed. He needed to record this. He grabbed the phone, slipped the battery back into place, and winced as the phone's automated voice read through the functions.

* * *

><p>"He's back!" Barber crowed.<p>

"Don't lose him," Joan ordered. "Get as many trackers as you can on that phone, before he decides to go silent again."

"Yes, ma'am!"

* * *

><p>"What was that?" Henry asked.<p>

"The TV, sir," Annie improvised.

The answer seemed to satisfy him. "Give me an update."

"No change. Still waiting."

There was a momentary silence on the line. "The team will be there in five minutes. I want you to lock the doors as soon as they're all inside. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. I'll call back later." The line went dead.

Annie blew out a slow breath. "That sounded an awful lot like -"

"It was," Auggie said and turned off the recorder. "We'll rest on our laurels later. We have work to do, and no time to lose. I hope you brought your copy of _Hacking for Dummies_?

"Even better, Auggie." He could hear the smile in her voice, as she set something down beside him. He ran his fingers over the object and grinned. His Braille display. "I owe you big time," he said.

"More than a sandwich?"

"A sandwich and maybe even a beer when this is done," he answered as he plugged the display into the USB port. At once the display came to life. "Now we're in business," Auggie said, back in his element. He typed in a few quick commands, and all of a sudden the screen sprang to life. "Cooper, I may need your help here. Time is short, and I could use a working pair of eyes."

* * *

><p>Barber's jaw dropped as he gaped at the data flowing across the screen. "Damn! He did it! Auggie did it! We got intel flooding in by the bucket."<p>

Joan was at his side in an instant. "What is this?"

Data scrolled across the screen in a seemingly endless flow of names, dates, and service records.

"I've seen this before... or something like it," she said, searching her memory. And then she remembered. She grabbed the nearest phone and punched in the familiar digits. "Arthur, she said when her husband answered. "You need to get down here, now."

* * *

><p>Auggie leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "That's it. We 're done."<p>

"You did it, Auggie," Annie smiled.

"I did, didn't I?" he chuckled.

"Do I detect a hint of self-doubt?"

"Never. I amaze even myself sometimes."

Annie laughed. "I'm rolling my eyes at you, just so you know. You ready to bust out of here?"

"Call in the team, but I'm not leaving before we get everyone out. And we'll need a medic."

"Auggie! Are you hurt?" Annie asked in alarm.

"I'm fine, but I have an injured asset, and a couple of captives upstairs."

"Uh... Auggie... guys?" Tommy interrupted. His eyes were wide as he stared at the monitors. "I don't want to alarm you, but we've got company. Unfriendly company."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued.<em>


	21. They Also Serve

_**Author's Note: **__Thank-you, dear readers, for your patience and encouragement. I had a difficult time with this chapter. I had it done and ready to post two weeks ago, but when I went back to read it, it just wasn't what I wanted. So I scrapped it and started over. _

_Thanks for all your lovely reviews, comments, messages and follows. Every single one is precious to me. If I haven't replied, it isn't because I didn't appreciate your effort, but rather be because I was too distractible and didn't want to lose my focus. _

_This chapter's title, which most of you will recognize, is, of course, borrowed from Milton._

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter 20 - They Also Serve**

Auggie's blood turned to ice. "How many unfriendlies? And where?"

"Five... no, six of them," Tommy answered. "Coming up through the trees. They're in the shadows and hard to see."

"You're telling me," Auggie quipped, minus the customary grin. "I'm guessing they're armed?"

Graham Cooper leaned in closer to the screen. "Hard to tell from this angle. But they sure as hell don't look like Girl Scouts."

"Where's the rest of your team?"

"Davis has the staff holed up in the lounge. Doc, Scott and Curtis are checking the upper floors and roof."

"Yeah, you might want to tell them to get their asses down here," Auggie suggested.

Annie cast Cooper a look of alarm. "We can't, Auggie," she said. "They're in stealth mode. They went silent as soon as we split up."

* * *

><p>The man they called "al-Amriki" pulled his hood close around his face and adjusted his pack. He threw a quick glance around, then, with a low, quiet whistle, he signaled to his team, to keep moving up the mountainside. As silently as they could they crept upwards over the frozen ground, through the dry vegetation to the very edge of the clearing. Bright spotlights shone down from the roof, bathing the grounds in near daylight, but casting everything else in inky darkness.<p>

He held up a hand, ordering his team to halt, and almost immediately they stopped moving. They were raw and green, but this troubled him only slightly. They were eager and would learn, and if they didn't, then they would receive their reward in paradise as martyrs in the great struggle.

He had taught them all they needed to know for this their first mission. Ideally, he'd have brought them to one of the camps, in Somalia, Yemen, or Pakistan, but the risk was too great. With his fair skin and all-American features, he was too valuable an asset to squander on simple escort missions. After this was over, if the kids proved themselves worthy, he'd send them in pairs to the training camps. After tonight, they wouldn't need an escort.

In the meantime, they could prove their worth by completing this mission. The man who'd hired them had given few details, telling him only that they would strike a blow against the same military that had killed countless innocents in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was an infidel but a sympathizer. Besides, the money and protection he'd offered went a long way in helping one overlook religious differences.

As for the mission? Americans loved their veterans, welcomed their returning heroes with ceremonies and parades, never once noticing the blood dripping from their hands. This action would change all that. They had called this a war on terror? Adam Mitchell, aka Azzam al-Amriki would show them what happened when the war came to their doorstep.

* * *

><p>It took all of Auggie's will to keep from charging out of the room to warn the team himself. But he couldn't do that. Not anymore. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he focused on what he could do. "Tell me what we have. Trackers?"<p>

Cooper shook his head. "No," Annie translated.

"Weapons?"

"Handguns, pocket knives," Annie continued. "We were trying to pass as Health Department inspectors. We could hardly show up in tactical gear."

"Okay, so let's think this through."

"There's no time," Annie said. "We've got to warn them. That roof is no place for a firefight."

"I'm not sending you in blind." He held up a hand. "I promise I'll insert a suitable blind joke later. Any cameras, can we get visuals?"

Cooper took over the computer. "Nothing, damn it!"

"Anything I can help with, Boss?"

Auggie smiled in relief. The phone line to Langley was still open. "Great timing, Barber! Do we have any satellites in range? I need a visual of the roof."

Barber was perplexed. "_You_ need visuals?"

"There's only one blind guy here."

"Oh, right."

"I can find them," Annie insisted. "I'll warn them."

"Wait," Auggie said, stopping her. "Barber, anything?"

"None of our birds are in range, but I can open a channel on a French telecom satellite."

"Do it, just don't break into their evening broadcast of _Des Chiffres et des lettres._ We don't need to provoke an international incident with France."

Barber chuckled. A moment later the satellite imagery was on its way to Auggie's phone."

"They're up, Auggie," Annie said.

"What do you see?"

"The guys are up there, Auggie, but there's no cover except one satellite dish. They'll be sitting ducks if they don't come back inside."

"Cooper, can they see into the trees?"

"No, the spotlights surrounding the building are too bright."

Auggie closed his eyes, and rested his forehead on his clasped hands.

Annie touched his shoulder "You okay?"

"Yeah." Without opening his eyes, he turned his face towards the team. "My guess is that whoever's out there is getting his team organized," he said. "That buys us a little time. Annie, Coop?"

"Yeah?" They answered in unison.

"Get to the roof, a.s.a.p. Warn the guys. Do not pass go. Do not collect-

"We get it," Annie said, already at the door. "Let's go."

"Keep your phone close," he called after them.

Auggie listened as Annie and Cooper left the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, he turned to Tommy. "How's our friend?"

Tommy checked the young woman in the corner. "Still out. Pulse is strong, breathing regular."

"Alright. What's happening on the screen."

"No change."

Auggie nodded. "Good. " He ran his hands over the desk, but came up empty. "There's a key and fob here somewhere. Go let the guys out of their rooms. Tell them whatever you think they need to know to get out of there."

"Where do you want me to take them?"

"Find a room on the ground floor. Whatever is about to go down, we want them out of harm's way."

"And where exactly would that be?"

Auggie shrugged. "Beats me. Barber, you still there?"

"Yep."

"I need you to find blueprints of this place. Do whatever you've got to do, but find them and send them to this phone. We need them now."

"They're already on their way," Barber replied with an audible grin.

Confused, Auggie replied. "How..."

"As soon as we knew where you'd been taken, Stu and I dug up everything we could find on the place, including the blueprints. Annie and your friend Cooper already have a copy."

"Well done. Keep this up, and you just might find yourself head of your own department one day."

"Thought I already was."

"Yeah? Well don't get too comfortable. Tommy?"

"I think I can bring them to the dining room."

"This dump has a dining room?"

"It did in 1958."

* * *

><p>"How much longer we gotta stay here?"<p>

"Not long." Sergeant Damien Davis surveyed the room. Warren, and the dozen staff members were growing restless. The sooner they secured Auggie, his asset and their intel, the happier he'd be.

"That's what you said an hour ago," a large woman in a hairnet protested. "I gotta get my team back to work. We need to get the kitchen ready for the breakfast crew. Nobody likes it when breakfast runs late. Well, that's not entirely true. Most folks here might not notice, but still I'm not letting those boys go hungry after everything else they've been through. No, sir. Not me."

"What are you talking about?" Davis asked.

"Nothin'" she replied, suddenly guarded.

"No, tell me."

"It's nothing. It's just that these guys, most of them don't know which way is up. They're not the ones who'll complain if breakfast is running late. The bosses want their food hot and on time, though."

"Do the patients and bosses get the same food?"

"Ha! That'll be the day. No, because of the program, the patients get special food, with special nutrients and additives. It's supposed to help them get better. But I dunno. Good wholesome home cooking, fresh air, sunshine, exercise... seems to me those things would do those boys more good than medicine disguised as food and all those experiments and therapies."

Tommy paused by the door. "You coming?"

Auggie shook his head. "Not this time. I'd only slow you down. You always wanted to take the lead. Here's your chance. You can handle this one on your own."

"I'm not leaving you here alone."

"I'm a big boy. I don't need coddling."

"You can't see."

"I don't need to see to do this. You guys are the ones who'll be doing all the heavy lifting."

"What happens when one of those tangos breaks in? What then?" I watched 'em haul your ass out on a stretcher once. I ain't letting that happen again."

"It won't. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Captain, you are blind. I could be aiming a gun at you right now, and you'd never know!"

"Are you?"

"No, of course not."

"Look. This is what I do, Tommy, every day. It's my job, and I'm very good at it. What I can't do is round up our guys and get them out of here. I need you to do that. Just get them out of those rooms and keep them safe."

"Yes, sir."

"Atta boy," Auggie grinned, and ran his hands over the desk. His fingers closed around a familiar shape. "Here," he said. "It's best if you take this."

Tommy paused for a moment. "You sure about this?"

"You're probably a better shot."

"I always was."

* * *

><p>"Third floor clear." Annie cried, and raced up the fire escape to the roof.<p>

"Wait!" Cooper said, grabbing her hand as she pressed on the bar of the door. "You go charging out there, you're likely to get shot."

He eased the door open a crack. "Hold your fire!"

Steps crunched on the gravel rooftop, coming to a halt on the other side of the door. "Cooper? What the hell are you doing here?"

Annie jumped forward. "Get down!"

"What the fuck?!"

"Sir, we have a problem," Annie said from behind the low parapet. "Unfriendlies just behind the northern perimeter fencing, Captain."

"Armed?"

"Unconfirmed," Cooper said, "but that would be my guess."

Cameron peered over the edge. "Where are they? Can't see a damn thing outside of those lights. Scott!"

"Sir!"

"Shoot out one of the lights."

"With all due respect, Captain," Annie interjected, "that might not be such a great idea. We have the advantage right now. You shoot those lights out, they know we're here."

Cameron considered his options. "Doc, come with me. Cooper stay up here with Scott The minute either of you see anyone move out of those woods towards the building, you take 'em out, quietly. Understood?"

* * *

><p>Auggie's grin dissolved as the Tommy left the room. He released a long, slow breath, closed his eyes, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Leaning back into the chair, he replayed the events of the last hour. By now Walker and Cooper should be nearing the roof. And he was confident that Tommy could handle -<p>

"You okay?"

Auggie jolted upright. "Yeah, uh... fine, just tired."

"Sorry I startled you."

"No. It's okay. I should have remembered you were there. I should **not** have been falling asleep on the job." He listened for a sudden movement. "You're not screaming or running away."

"Should I be?"

"I'm not the hardest guy to sneak past."

"I'm Sam... "

"Dr. Allen's assistant."

She must have nodded. "That still doesn't tell me why you're not trying to escape."

"I thought about it. I've been awake a while."

"Okay..."

"I overheard you talking with those other people. What are you, a cop or something?"

"Something. What did you hear?"

"Enough to know you're trying to keep the guys here safe."

" How much do you know about me?"

"Only what was in your file and what the guy, Mr. Wilcox from The Albion Group told me."

"The guy from The Albion group?"

"I spoke to him on the phone. But I think he may have confused you with someone else."

"Why do you think that?"

"What he said about you. If doesn't fit. We see some pretty messed up guys around here, and you don't seem to be anything like them."

"What exactly did he tell you?"

Sam hesitated not knowing how much to reveal or what might set him off. "He said you killed your unit. You set off an explosion that killed your team."

Auggie gave a sour laugh. "Yeah, figures he'd come up some crazy story like that."

"I didn't say I believed it."

"Sam, the agency I work for has reason to believe a large-scale unsanctioned psy-ops program has been targeting veterans and active-duty military."

"Psy-ops... you mean like brain-washing?"

"Sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation, psychotropic drugs. Sound familiar?"

"But why? I thought we were helping you guys."

"In every war, people have to make hard choices. Usually the people making those hard choices are politicians and policy experts, not the ones actually carrying out the action, which makes the hard choices a little easier," Auggie said with a small smirk. Continuing, he explained, "When things get messy, those decision-makers would rather keep the voting public in the dark. The patients here, they ... we had to act on those choices. And things often got messy. Your Mr. Wilcox and The Albion Group, they want to make sure that what we did over there never sees light of day. They want to keep it buried in layers of bureaucracy and wrapped up in red tape. A lot of people have an awful lot to lose and they'll do anything to keep the truth from coming out."

"And that's been going on here?"

Auggie nodded.

"I work here. I'm part of this. I thought I was doing good. Am I in trouble?"

Auggie shrugged, "What do your instincts tell you?"

"I just monitor the video feed. Until today, I never had any direct contact with any of the patients." She paused a moment before continuing. "But I saw what they were doing. I saw what they did to you."

"I'm okay," Auggie said reaching forward and finding her hand. "I've been through worse than this."

"When I interviewed for this job, Dr. Allen told me his methods were unconventional. I never suspected just how unconventional."

Sam fell silent. Auggie could almost hear the wheels turning as she envisioned the most dire outcomes. He'd always loathed involving civilians. He leaned back in the chair, and checked the time on the phone. "One-twenty-eight a. m." He ran through the op in his mind, going over every detail, mentally following his team. What was taking them so long? Listening intently, he hoped to catch the sound of running feet. Instead he heard something else. "Did you hear that?"

* * *

><p>Al-Amriki reached into his pack, keeping his eyes riveted on his watch. Timing was everything. No one would expect a late-night attack. It was almost time. He checked his pack and drew out his weapon and a pair of wire cutters. He raised his hand and repeated the signal.<p>

* * *

><p>"I didn't hear anything," Sam replied.<p>

"Listen." Auggie strained to hear the sound again. "I thought I heard something from outside. Is there a window in here?"

"Yeah, you want me to open it?"

"Just a crack, but be careful. Don't show yourself."

And there it was again. A thin, sighing whistle. A faintly bird-like call, rising and falling on the very edge of recognition. "Did you hear it this time?"

"I only hear the wind in the tree tops."

He might have dismissed it as such, but he recognized it. It was a sound that had no place in Colorado. He'd last heard it halfway around the world in another life. Lowgar Province, in Afghanistan was where he'd first learned to isolate it from the surrounding night time noises. The sound had led him and his unit to a nest of Taliban fighters. He'd heard it again in the back alleys of Fallujah and Tikrit. It was a signal used by tribal fighters and insurgents, and completely out of place in the mountains of Colorado.

"Come over here, Sam. I need your eyes."

He heard a faint rustle of clothing, but no accompanying footsteps. "I promise, I won't hurt you. I won't even touch you," he said, holding up his hands for emphasis. "I just need to know what's happening on that screen."

Hesitant steps drew close and paused by his left shoulder. He felt her lean forward and guessed that she was peering closely at the monitor. Almost at once, she jumped back slightly. "What is it?"

"Shadows moving. They're darker than the surrounding darkness, if that makes sense."

"It does. They're probably wearing black instead of camo."

"They? Who are they?"

"Sorry, can't help you there."

Sam gasped. "Oh, my God! It's a bunch of guys with hoods. And backpacks! They're moving out of the woods and coming towards the building."

"Stay calm. Tell me if you see any weapons."

She leaned in closer. "I'm not sure. Maybe. One of them has something. It could be a some kind of gun. All I see is something that could be a rifle's barrel."

"Like a hunting rifle?"

"No shorter." She tugged at Auggie's arm. "They're coming. We've got to get away from here."

Auggie reached for her wrists. "Sam. Breathe and stay calm. We need to keep our heads. There are a lot of people counting on us."

"We can't fight them. I don't even have a gun anymore."

"You're right. We can't fight them, but we can make it harder for them to do what they came to do. Those men are ready to do whatever it takes to make sure no one learns about what goes on here. Do you understand?"

She swallowed hard. "I understand. But I'm not sure what to do. I've never..."

Auggie gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "But I have. I'll tell you what to do, but you need to promise to do exactly what I say. Okay?"

There was no answer.

"Are you nodding?"

"Yes."

"Okay. First I need you to make sure the doors are locked."

"They're always locked."

"From the inside?"

"Inside. Outside. No one gets in our out without an access code."

"Good. What are the doors made of?"

"Steel."

"So, that's another point in our favor. See, we're winning this thing already. Is there another way out of here, through the basement or a service exit?"

"There's a freight elevator in the kitchen, it goes down to a loading dock two floors down, on the north side of the building."

"A friend of mine, a man named Davis, is with the staff a couple of doors down from here. I need you and him to move everyone to the kitchen, into that elevator and out of here before all hell breaks loose. Can you do that?"

"What do I tell them?"

"Whatever you like. Just don't tell them the truth."

* * *

><p>Sam closed the door and walked down the hallway, trying to look confident. The lights were bright in the staff break room, and through the door she could hear the din of raised voices.<p>

Peering through the window, she saw most of the night staff seated around a couple of tables, talking and looking none too pleased. Standing just to the side of the door, a tall, well-built man caught her eye, and glared at her suspiciously. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed open the door, and entered the break room.

"Mr. Davis, may I have a word, please?"

"Any word you like, as long as we have it right here."

She turned her back to the staff. "I work here. I have a message from your supervisor."

Davis eyed her narrowly. "My supervisor? Anderson?"

Sam nodded.

Davis looked around and stepped in closer. "Okay... what does he want?"

"He wants us to get everyone down to the kitchen. There's a service elevator there."

"Did he, by any chance, tell you how we are supposed to get these people down there?"

"No. But there's no time to lose. There are six armed men closing in on this facility. We need to get out of here."

"Okay..."

* * *

><p>Tommy stood at the foot of the bed. The two men behind him grinned in the darkness. "Let's go, soldier. Out of bed. We're moving out!"<p>

"Who the hell are you?" the man asked groggily.

"Captain Thomas Marcus, U.S. Army Special Forces. On your feet, I said. Let's go."

"What?"

Tommy gestured to the two men behind him. They grabbed the confused man by the arms, and yanked him to his feet.

"Three down, plenty more to go. Let's move it." Making a sharp pivot turn, he left the room, and nearly crashed into Curtis, Doc and Annie.

"Tommy Marcus? What are you doing in this place?"

"Curtis Cameron, holy shit, it **is** you!" He said, pulling his friend into a bearlike hug. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you guys!"

"Actually, I think I do. Damn it, Tommy! Last I heard, you were supposed to be in Libya. I had no idea you were holed up in here." Cameron pulled away and looked Tommy over. "You look like hell. You need a shave and a haircut. In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you wearin' a 'fro."

"Yeah, well the barbershop here isn't up to my usual standards." Turning serious, he lowered his voice. "You seen Auggie?"

"No, is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Except, well... you know." And he waved a hand in front of his eyes.

"Yeah, I know. I still can't -"

"Gentlemen," Annie broke in. "Save the reunion for later. We have a job to do. Let's get the doors unlocked, then split up and get the men out of here.

* * *

><p>Davis cleared his throat. "Everybody, listen up. I've just received some troubling news from our inspection team. Uh... toxins have been found in the air ducts for the first through third floors. We need to get down to the basement receiving area."<p>

"Toxins?" the lady in the hairnet asked. "What kind of toxins?"

"The bad kind. The kind that can make you really sick."

"What kind exactly?"

Davis scrambled for an answer. "Botulism toxin."

"Botox?" one of the orderlies asked.

"No. Not Botox. Botulism spores in the ducts. You breathe that in and it paralyzes your lungs."

Hairnet lady wasn't buying it. "I ain't never heard of no botulism **spores**. I work the kitchen crew. I heard of botulism contaminating food, but that ain't something that gets in the air."

Sam jumped in. "This is a new strain, Nell. They explained it to me. It's airborne and it only takes a small amount to get into your lungs, and that's it. You're done. No treatment. No cure."

"And who told your this?" Nell, the hairnet lady asked.

"The lady in charge of the inspection team," Sam replied. "She was wearing a mask and gloves in the shower when she told me."

"Sounds pretty serious," Warren said, getting up and heading for the door. "I'm not sticking around to find out for myself."

Davis moved to the door. "Hold it. We're gonna leave but in an orderly manner. We best avoid the stairs. Is there another way out?

"Downstairs. Through the kitchen," Warren said. "Follow me."

As the last staff member left the room, Sam turned to Davis, shaking her head. "Botulism? Really?"

He shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"

* * *

><p>Al-Amriki raced to the fence, expecting with every step to feel the impact of a well-aimed bullet. He skidded to a halt, unharmed, where the corner fencepost cast a thin shadow against the closely cropped lawn. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his team crouched in the shadows, waiting for his signal. He took he wire cutters and clipped a three-foot opening in the chain-link, folded it back, crawled through, and signaled to the others.<p>

* * *

><p>"We have one coming through the fence," Scott said into the darkness.<p>

Cooper crawled up to his side. "Take him down?"

"No. Too obvious. Don't want to start a firefight. I intend to pick 'em off from the back.

* * *

><p>Auggie listened intently. "Anyone else around that I should know about?" he called into the silence.<p>

"Well, there's always us."

"Joan..." Auggie picked the phone up off the desk.

"How are you doing?"

"It's been a long day. A long month actually... At least I think it's been a month.

Joan gave a dry chuckle. "I suppose asking for a sit rep would be redundant?"

"You've been listening in. You know as much as I do."

"More. We have the visuals."

"Is Annie on the roof?"

"She's come and gone already with Doc and Cameron. Cooper and Scott are up there waiting for your guests to make their move." Joan paused a moment before continuing.

"What is it?" Auggie asked.

"I've notified Rossabi. He called in an FBI tactical team. ETA ten minutes."

"I thought Cameron and his crew were handling the tactical side."

"Cameron and his crew are there to get you out. That's it. The Special Ops team will get you, your asset and the intel out before the Bureau locks the place down."

Auggie said nothing.

Joan continued. "Auggie, you knew from Day One that this would be the Bureau's case. The Bureau's win."

"I know."

"Let Hoover take the credit for this one. It's time you came home."

"I will, as soon as -" A sharp crack in the distance interrupted his reply. Auggie's head snapped up. "I gotta go."

"Auggie, stay where you are!"

* * *

><p>"Auggie!" The color fled from Annie's face. Doc thought she was going to faint. He took a step towards her, but in that same instant, she turned and ran towards the stairwell.<p>

"Walker, wait!" Curtis called and ran after her. He caught her by the arm. "That shot was closer than two floors down. We need to do this as a team."

"You get take care of the patients," Annie called as she broke loose from the captain's grip. She ran down the hallway, calling over her shoulder. "I need to check on Auggie!"

"Walker, get back here! Walker, damn it!"

* * *

><p>"Coop, Dude, where's your silencer? You wanna blow this op?"<p>

"That wasn't me, " Cooper replied, meeting the weapons expert's troubled gaze.

"Okay, so if it wasn't you and it wasn't me..."

* * *

><p>Everyone froze in front of the service elevator.<p>

"What was that?" Warren asked, holding the gate open. "It sounded like a shot."

"What's going on?"

"It's just a disinfecting device," Sam improvised. "It kills germs and mold spores. Sort of like a bug fogger... but louder."

"Keep calm everybody, and keep moving into the elevator." Davis ordered.

"That didn't sound like no bug bomb," Nell muttered as she yanked on the gate. "That sounded like a gun."

* * *

><p>Al-Amriki froze at the sound. His whole team hit the ground. For a moment, he feared the shot had been meant for him, but he quickly realized that it came from farther away and was muffled. Probably just a car backfiring on the road below, or a firecracker in someone's back yard. He urged his men onward.<p>

"You know your parts. Insha'Allah, we will meet at the rendez-vous when this is done. If not there, then in paradise. Alahu Akhbar!"

* * *

><p>Auggie stood with his hand on the doorknob, trying to remember the way to the conference room.<p>

"Auggie?" Joan's voice crackled through the phone. "Auggie, are you there?"

Auggie turned around and leaned his head back against the door, resisting the urge to pound his fist into the unyielding metal.

"Auggie?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm here."

"Let the team handle it."

"I don't see that I have much of a choice." He was spared any sorrowful reply by the phone's silent vibration, signaling a second call coming through. "I gotta take this, Joan," he said and switched lines. "Annie, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Just peachy. Where did that shot come from?"

"Somewhere below the third floor."

"And above the first..." Auggie swore beneath his breath and considered their options. "Annie, take someone with you. Someone armed. There's a room, about halfway down the second floor hallway. I left my asset, a shrink named Allen, there to watch over a prisoner. Dollars to doughnuts, that's where that gunshot came from."

"Who's the prisoner?"

"One of Henry's secret operatives, a guy by the name of Tomacek. Be careful, Annie. Don't go in there alone. Take Cameron."

"Cameron's busy with the patients."

"Then Tommy or Doc."

"I'm nearly there, Auggie."

"Annie, don't go in there. There's an FBI team on its way. Let them handle it!"

He heard her open the door. He berated himself for not thinking to lock it when he'd left Allen watching Tomacek?

A gasp yanked him back to the present. "Annie!"

"Oh, my God! Auggie, he's dead."

* * *

><p>Davis pulled the elevator grille open. "Go! Go! Run to the woods!" he said, herding the staff out of the service bay and down the hill. "Keep clear of the road."<p>

"What's going on? Was that a gunshot" Sam asked, jogging by his side, a little distance behind the rest of the staff.

"Probably. I'll explain all that I can as soon as we're clear."

* * *

><p>The assassin reached the side of the building, and there, hidden in the shadow of the porch, he rested his head against the cold brick and caught his breath. With careful, practiced moves, Al-Amriki slowly slipped the pack off his back and set it gently beneath the stairs. C-4 might be stable, but he wasn't taking any chances on having it go off prematurely. He reached into his pocket, feeling the burner phone that was there. A simple three-digit code, and it would be done.<p>

He looked for the others. Some thirty feet away, the kid from Minnesota was fiddling with the straps of his pack. He had his doubts about that one.

Carefully, he moved towards the other side of the building.

* * *

><p>Scott watched as the black hooded men spread around the building. As soon as he was certain that they were out of each other's line of sight he adjusted his aim, took a breath, and eased his finger onto the trigger.<p>

"What the hell?!" Cooper muttered from a few feet away. "You see that?"

"Looks like he's removing the glass from that window," Scott said and resumed his shooting stance.

"Wait till he sets it down. Don't want the sound of shattering glass waking up the neighbors."

"Whoa! Hold on," Scott said, lowering his rifle again. "He just threw his pack through the window. He's headed for the fence."

"Shit! Check his hands!'

Scott looked through his scope. "Empty." he said. He adjusted his aim once more, and squeezed the trigger. Without making a sound, the man crumbled in the shadow of the stairs. "One tango down. We need to find the others."

* * *

><p>"Who's dead, Annie?"<p>

Annie averted her gaze from the gruesome scene before her. "The guy in the lab coat with the injured arm. I'm guessing that's your asset. I'm also guessing Tomacek shot him."

"Are you sure? You sure he's dead?"

"Trust me on this, Auggie, and be glad you can't see this."

"Small blessings. Where's Tomacek?"

She cast her gaze around the room. The space was small and there was nothing in there save a small cabinet, a gurney with a discarded belt and broken shoelaces thrown on the mattress. And the very dead body of Auggie's asset.

Auggie's insistent voice came over the phone. "Annie! Where's Tomacek?"

She looked around. "I don't know, Auggie. I don't see him. He's gone. Ugh!"

"What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just stepped in blood. I got it all over my shoes. It's everywhere." That was it! Annie set aside her revulsion and looked down the hallway. "Bingo! He's leaving bloody footprints."

"Stay where you are, Annie. Don't go after him!"

* * *

><p>Tomacek sped up the stairs. Behind him, one floor down, he hear the stairwell door open and close again. He stole a quick glance behind and cursed beneath his breath. As quietly as he could, he pushed open the door, and removed his shoes. He tossed them into the first vacant room found, and, without slowing his pace, ran to the stairs at the opposite end of the hall.<p>

* * *

><p>"Damn!" Auggie growled. "Why can't she just follow a simple command."<p>

"She reminds me of a special operative I used to handle."

"That's not the same. I was usually right."

"Unfortunately for you, so is Annie. "

* * *

><p>The trail of footprints ended at the top of the stairs. Her own shoes were still leaving faint traces so she had to assume that Tomacek had removed his shoes. As quietly as she could manage, she opened the 3rd floor door, and peered down the hall. It was empty with no one in sight. But the doors to the patients' rooms were all ajar. Tomacek could be hiding in any of those rooms. Waiting for an opportunity to escape. That's what most fugitives would do.<p>

Annie was tempted to go room-to-room, looking for Tomacek. That was her first instinct. Except that Tomacek wasn't the typical fugitive. He was a spy, a pretty good one she was guessing, and one of Henry's secret operatives. He would do the unexpected. Annie's heart gave a lurch. She grabbed her phone and hit "redial".

"Auggie," she said as soon as he answered. "I think Tomacek is headed your way."

* * *

><p>"Number Two is at the fence. That makes four of them." Cooper announced.<p>

"So that leaves Number Three. Why's he sticking close to the building?"

"Maybe he's waiting for the guy you took out?"

"Maybe he's checking on the explosives. Wait. He's got something in his hand!" Scott adjusted the sight on his rifle. "It's a phone."

"He's gonna blow the place up."

"Not gonna happen. I can take him out now."

"And risk having him press the key as he goes down? Bad idea. Plan B?"

"Watch and wait."

"We wait. And hope that someone is looking out for us from above."

"God?"

"Langley!"

* * *

><p>"Joan, we have a developing situation on the roof."<p>

"What's going on, Eric?"

"Scott discharged his weapon a minute ago."

"What's going on, Joan?" Auggie's voice asked through the speaker.

Joan stepped up to the big screen. Two men crouched on opposites of a roof had their weapons drawn and ready. "Pull back, Eric, and show me the grounds."

The camera zoomed out. "Where are the others?"

"Can't see them. Let me try to get a thermal image, before this bird flies out of range." he said typing in a new command. "And heeeere we go!" he said, striking the last key with flourish.

Joan glared briefly at Barber before shifting her focus back to the oversized monitor behind the desk. Studying the images on the screen, she made a quick tally of the glowing orange silhouettes. Two men on the roof. One skirting the perimeter of the building. Three by the fence. On the far side of the building, a group of a dozen or so people was running into the woods. Two more figures stood by the east door of the building. One last man, his silhouette fading to a lighter tint of orange, lay immobile by the wall. "Zoom in on the lone guy walking around the building." Eric went in for a closer view. "What's that in his hand," Joan asked.

Barber switched to the conventional black and white view. "Looks like a phone."

Joan and Barber exchanged glances as realization hit home. "Auggie!" Joan cried. "You've got to get out of there."

* * *

><p>"That's the last of them," Tommy said. "Let's move 'em on out."<p>

Doc and Cameron moved the rag-tag group towards the exit.

* * *

><p>Tomacek ran down the stairs. His socks were slippery, and his feet found little purchase on the slick terrazzo treads. His reflexes and senses slowed by the sedatives still working their way through his system, he couldn't quite catch himself when his left foot shot out from under him, and he tumbled down the eight steps to the second floor landing. He heard the bones in his right leg snap as he landed. He looked down and saw his leg bent where no angle should have been. Then the pain hit.<p>

The door on the first floor landing flew open, striking his injured leg. He bit his tongue to the blood but he didn't cry out.

"Something's blocking the door," said a voice on the other side.

"Try it again," a second voice replied.

Reaching for the banister, Tomacek pulled himself upright. With his other hand, he raised his gun.

The door flew open, and Cameron and Tommy tumbled in followed by Doc. Cameron looked up, and found himself face-to-face with a Tomacek's weapon.

"Move and you're dead," Tomacek said. His face was grey. Sweat beaded his forehead, but the hand holding the gun was steady.

At that moment, the third floor door flew open and Annie came flying down the stairs.

Instinctively, Tomacek turned towards the sound. That was all the opening Cameron and Doc needed. They tackled him and he hit the ground with a cry of pain. Cameron was on him and had him disarmed in an instant. Tomacek struggled, but the fight left him when he saw he was outnumbered.

"Excellent timing, Walker," Cameron said, as he bound Tomacek's wrists with a zip tie. Tomacek continued to struggle. "You can fight all you like, asshole, but you'll only go to jail tired. Now get up."

Doc pointed at Tomacek's blood-stained trouser leg. Fresh blood was pooling on the floor. "Captain. Look at his leg. He's not going anywhere."

Annie's phone buzzed. Her eyes grew wide and her features, grave as she listened to the call. "Understood," she said. Turning to the men, she explained. "There's a bomb. Maybe more than one. We need to get out!" Speaking into her phone again, she asked, "Eric, we need an exit."

"You've got bad guys with guns just outside that door. Make your way to the basement. The exit by the loading bay is still clear."

"Got it," Annie said, and ended the call, and relayed Barber's direcitons."See you outside, boys," she shoved through the doors and into the first floor hallway.

"Walker!" Curtis grunted as he heaved Tomacek onto his shoulder. "Walker, exit's this way. Where the hell are you going?"

"I'm getting Auggie. We'll meet you outside."

* * *

><p>Scott held the man with the phone steady in his sights. "I can take out the phone."<p>

"What if the impact detonates the bomb?"

"Anyone ever tell you you're a buzzkill, Scott? Okay, Plan B I get him in the wrist and he drops the phone."

"And picks it up with his other hand."

He lined up his shot. "He won't have time to pick it up. If he so much as twitches, I take him out. I'm doing this."

* * *

><p>Auggie worked his way down the hallway, slowing as he neared what felt like the end, and searching for the tell-tale signs of an exit door.<p>

"Over here, Auggie," Annie called, running towards him.

"Nice of you to stop by, Walker."

"We gotta get out of here, there's a bomb."

"So I've been told," she said, guiding his hand to her elbow.

They ran to the stairwell. Cameron and the others were waiting by the door. Annie called in to Langley. "We're ready to evacuate, Barber. What's the best exit?"

"You've got bad guys with guns on the north and east sides. Head for the basement like the others."

Auggie grabbed the phone. "Barber, where are the Feds?"

"They're three minutes out," Joan answered. "Get out. Now!"

Auggie tightened his grip on Annie's arm as they sped through the deserted hallways, skidded 'round the corner, and flew down the stairs and towards the exit. "We're nearly there, Auggie."

* * *

><p>On the lawn below, the target was backing away from the building and moving towards the fence.<p>

"Is that a smile on his face?" Cooper asked incredulously.

Scott replied with a feral grin of his own. "I'll wipe it off." He slowly squeezed the trigger. Down below, the man fell to the ground as the bullet went through his wrist and into his thigh. The phone lay several feet beyond his reach. He swore and began crawling towards the phone. The second shot took him in the back, and he stopped moving.

Cooper sprayed several rounds in front of the rest of the man's team. "You guys want to get that phone, it'll cost ya."

* * *

><p>The frigid December air hit Auggie like a slap to the face. He gasped and coughed in surprise.<p>

"You okay?"

"Don't mind me keep going! How far to the woods?"

"Thirty yards or so. You good?"

"I'm good," he said, not slowing. They reached the cover of the trees and stopped.

"What is it?" Auggie asked.

"Your guys are waiting," she said with a smile. "You did it, Auggie."

"We did it, Walker," he countered, as they started moving down the hill. Scott and Cooper came running up.

"Auggie, you bastard," Curtis Cameron pulled him into a fierce hug. "You okay, man?"

"I'm fine. Are we all here?"

"Yeah."

"The civilians?"

"Waiting for the cavalry."

"Bad guys?"

Cameron's reply was cut off by the sound of growling engines. A moment later, the vehicles skidded to a halt on the gravel drive. Doors slammed. Radios crackles, and booted feet rushed into the building. "The cavalry?" Auggie asked.

"Yep," Annie replied.

"What do you say we get out of here, and let Hoover and Langley sort these guys out?"

"Best idea you've had in months, Captain Anderson."

"Oh, so now she respects my authority," Auggie laughed.

"Don't let it go to your head," Annie said, and led him down the wooded hill.

* * *

><p>"Senator Feinstein will see you now, Mr. Campbell."<p>

The chief of the Senate Intelligence Committee stood up behind her desk as Arthur walked in. "This is highly unusual, Arthur. Surely this could have waited a couple of hours until the hour you and Joan were scheduled to testify?"

Arthur handed over the blue-bound folder. "There have been recent developments."

The senator looked at the cover, but didn't open the folder. "How recent?"

"Overnight. The culmination of an deep cover investigation that has lasted several weeks."

She arched her brows. "An investigation? Arthur, you more than anyone should know that the CIA does not have a mandate to investigate anything. You're not a law enforcement agency."

"Poor choice of words, Diane. But we worked closely with the Bureau on this. I'm sure you'll be briefed on their side of the operation shortly."

The senator grunted her reply as she moved towards the couch. She sat and began scanning the contents of the folder. Her eyes grew wide. "You sent in a blind operative?"

"There was none more capable or believable."

The silence in the room grew heavy as the senator read further into the report. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she turned her sharp gaze back to Arthur. "These are very serious allegations. I'm assuming you have evidence to support them?"

"We're not in the evidence gathering field," Arthur said with a cheeky grin, but he turned serious again almost instantly. "Our operative, at great risk to himself, has gathered invaluable intelligence on this operation. Not only on what was going on at the Deer Creek facility, but at two other sites. Plus, we have new background on certain events which took place in Iraq and Afghanistan that led to having members of our elite forces locked up in those snake pits."

"And you say Henry Wilcox was behind all of this? He'll deny every last word of it."

"I fully expect him to." Arthur pulled his chair forward, "but we have the intel. Solid. Damning. And incontrovertible."

"What about Adam ... Azzam Al-Amriki?

"Our home-grown terrorist. The Bureau will be able to fill you in on the details, but it would appear that The Albion Group hired Al-Amriki to blow up the Deer Creek facility. To make it look like an act of domestic terrorism. For now, Al-Amriki's under heavy guard on a navy hospital ship, until he recovers sufficiently to be transferred to a maximum security federal penitentiary."

"It says he'll never walk again. Was that necessary?"

"Lucky shot. I shouldn't have to remind you he was trying to blow up a building with veterans, civilians, and our operatives still inside."

"What about the kids he recruited?"

"It's all in that file. According to our friends at the Bureau, they've been singing like birds. "

The senator checked her watch and closed the file. "I'll share this with the committee. I still expect to see you and Joan testifying here in two hours."

Arthur stood, and held out his hand. "Wouldn't dream of missing it, Diane."

* * *

><p>"I'm fine, Joan!" Auggie said, pushing aside the sheets, and swinging his legs over the side of the hospital bed. "I don't need to be in the hospital."<p>

Joan stilled him with a hand against his chest. "Don't make me order restraints.:

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, yes I would."

"I don't need to be here!" Auggie complained. "I'm perfectly fit to get back to work. You need me in Tech Ops."

Joan smiled at her operative, who at that moment looked like an irritated twelve-year old on the verge of a tantrum. "As it happens, Auggie, I have a perfectly adequate Manager of Tech Ops at the DPD who's been doing a fine job these last months. Last I heard, you were working at the Pentagon."

"That's harsh, Joan."

"Rest up, Auggie," she said, handing him a bag. "It's your tablet, screen reader, and headphones."

Auggie's eyes lit up as he reached into the bag.

"Marty loaded some books on it, LeCarré, Ludlum, I think, and...," Joan hesitated briefly, "... and suspended your access to the Agency servers."

"Oh, come on, Joan."

"Let the doctors give you the all-clear, and then I want you to go home. And I don't want to see back at Langley for at least two weeks. Take it easy. Listen to some of that cacophonous racket you call jazz. Go visit your family. Go to Vermont and visit Danny's family. In two weeks, you'll come back to work and we'll talk."

"What about my intel?"

"It's being treated, and analyzed." She stood up, and squeezed Auggie's shoulder. "Now I have to go. I have to on Capitol Hill in thirty minutes."

"Again? What's going on, Joan?"

"They have a lot of questions. There've been some very significant developments over the past couple of days. They want to be sure they have the whole story. Or, at least, the important parts of the whole story." She clasped his hand. "You did good, Auggie. Now try and be a good boy for the doctors and nurses. I'll stop by tomorrow to see how you're doing. Oh, look, here's Annie."

Auggie listened as the two sets of heels converged in the doorway.

"She's grinning like the cat that got the canary," Annie said, entering. "You on the other hand..."

Auggie scowled. "I don't need to be here."

"They want to make sure those drugs are completely out of your system before unleashing you on the world."

"Hmm. What if I promise not to drive?"

"I brought you a present," she said and dropped a bundle on his lap.

Auggie reached down to feel it. "A newspaper? Really, Annie?"

"Washington Post. Maybe your mood will improve if I read the headline.

"Whatever."

Annie grinned as she unfolded the paper. "'Surprise announcement: Henry Wilcox Withdraws Candidacy'"

Auggie sat up straight. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Shall I go on?" Annie asked innocently?

"Do you really need to ask?"

"'Henry Wilcox, former CIA Director of Covert Services has withdrawn his candidacy for the post of Assistant Secretary of State for the State Department's Bureau of Intelligence and Research. Citing personal reasons, Wilcox refused to answer reporter questions as he left the State Department Tuesday... '"

_To Be Continued..._

_Note: Only an epilogue and some historical notes left before this epic is done. All will be wrapped up before the Season 4 premiere__._

_Thanks for reading._


	22. Epilogue: The More Things Change

_Here it is, dear readers, the final chapter and epilogue of __The War At Home__. Enjoy!_

Epilogue: The More Things Change

The strange thing about working at the CIA, well, one of many strange things, was that when you returned after a long absence, people didn't pepper you with questions. It was part of the Agency's Need-to-Know culture. So, it came as no surprise that when Auggie returned to the DPD two weeks later, there was no reaction beyond the briefest moment of surprised silence when he passed through the bullpen, and then, just as if nothing had happened and nothing had changed, he was back to the business of keeping America safe.

His office was exactly as he had left it: clean, tidy, and with everything arranged just as he liked it. His Braille display was in its usual spot under the keyboard. His laser cane was in the top drawer, and a full bottle of Patrón silver in the bottom one. The only evidence of his absence was a banker's box from the ODMEO sitting on a shelf in the back corner.

He was glad to be back. His forced leave had been unbearably long. He'd spent entire days at the gym, until he was sure he had sweated out the last of the toxins. He cleaned his apartment, restocked his pantry and catalogued his most recent jazz acquisitions. He'd briefly considered flying out to Glencoe for a few days, but that would have raised too many questions so close to Christmas.

He'd called Danny's widow. God, Even now, it took a conscious effort to think of Laurie in those terms! Without going into operational details, he assured her that Danny hadn't died by his own hand. The necessary paperwork would be forwarded to the life insurance company, and the payout should help her and her unborn son through the rough patches that invariably came with running an organic farm.

Finally, he had donned his uniform and paid a return visit to the Pentagon. It wasn't exactly protocol, but he felt he owed Major Duncan an explanation of sorts. Over drinks in a quiet corner of the Officer's Club, the major listened with uncharacteristic quiet as Auggie explained what he could of the operation. The major said little afterwards save that he was glad to have helped.

After a second circuit of his office, Auggie sat at his computer, booted up his equipment, and began working his way through his e-mail. A handful including one from Marty welcomed him back. One, from Holman, Annie's interim handler, updated him on her current op in Managua. Another, from Joan, listed the current issues requiring his attention. At the end of her message, a post-script asked him to stop by her office when he'd settled in. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself against what he knew was coming.

He paused by her door a minute later. "Is she busy, Rebecca?"

"Probably," Joan's assistant smiled, "but she's waiting for you."

Joan's chair squeaked as she rose to greet him. The faint scent of Surat preceded the touch of her hand on his arm. "Welcome back, Auggie. Close the door and have a seat."

Auggie found the couch and waited.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Just like I was feeling fine two weeks ago. Where are Stu and Barber?"

"On well-deserved leave. They hardly left the place while you were on your mission. I practically had to have them escorted out. They wouldn't leave until they knew you and your team were safe."

"They're good handlers, and good techs."

"Put it in writing." Joan leaned back against her desk. "You're looking well and rested. You ready to come back?"

"I've been ready these past two weeks, Joan."

"Good. There are several cases that will require your special attention, but first I'll expect your report."

"Already done."

"And you'll need to get a psych eval and polygraph before you're fully cleared to resume your former duties."

"What, no fun-filled week at Blue Bonnet? I was so looking forward to their bottomless cups of ...juice."

"That can still be arranged." Joan crossed to the safe, and removed a folder. "I have a some letters here for you, one from FBI Director Mueller, another from General Shinseki of the V. A., and one from Admiral McRaven of SOCOM. Do you want me to read them to you?"

Auggie shook his head. "Just put them in my file with the others."

The sofa cushions shifted as Joan sat next to him. "I know you didn't do this for awards or recognition," Joan said. "Good will come of this, Auggie. All appearances to the contrary, this **is** a win."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is. Do not for one second doubt the impact your mission had on the lives of those men. They're out of that house of horrors, and getting the help and support they need. Real help and real support."

"What about the impact on Henry Wilcox? Have any charges been laid?"

"It's complicated," Joan sighed.

"I'm sure it is." He clicked on his laser cane and rose. "Are we done here?"

"Arthur will want to see you."

"He knows where to find me."

The summons came late in the day. Compared to the bustle of the DPD, the aural landscape of the Seventh Floor was one of quiet power. This was, he knew, a meticulously-crafted illusion, designed to give the impression that everything was safe, secure and under control. Auggie knew better.

"They're waiting for you," Arthur's assistant said in lieu of greeting.

Auggie frowned. "They?"

"You'll see."

"Hmm...Probably not," he smirked and made a sharp left towards Arthur's office.

The door flew open before he had a chance to knock. "Auggie, come in," Arthur said. "The DNI and Chief of the Senate Intelligence Committee have joined us."

Auggie held out his hand, not sure exactly who was where.

A firm grip seized his hand. "I'm pleased to finally meet you, Captain Anderson," said the Director of National Intelligence.

"The honor is mine, sir."

"That was a risky operation. I'm relieved that you were able to complete it safely and successfully. "

The Senator shook his hand next and congratulated him.

"Thank-you, ma'am, "but where does it go from here?"

Arthur directed everyone to the conference table. "John David Tomacek has been transferred to Petersburg prison," he began. "As far as the Agency is concerned, his use of enhanced interrogation techniques on our own people constitutes a breach of the CIA's charter, the criminal code, and national security. Add to that the charges related to the murder of Dr. Allen, and our friends at Justice assure us that Mr. Tomacek won't be going anywhere for a long time."

Auggie shook his head. "He'll plead out or plead not guilty. He'll claim he was following orders."

"That tactic won't work this time," the Senator countered. "Treason is a capital offense. The most he can gain by cooperating, is the chance to live out his natural life in prison, and serving the first of several consecutive life sentences he's bound to receive."

"That's assuming Tomacek testifies against Henry," the Senator said.

Auggie looked confused. "Why wouldn't he?" Auggie said. "Along with Sam Barragan's testimony, and Ross' plus whatever we get from Azzam al-Amriki and his merry band of homegrown Al-Qaeda wanna-bees, we have enough to convict Henry. Add to that Tomacek's recorded confession..."

"Which you obtained illegally," said Arthur.

Auggie squared his shoulders. "I used the means at my disposal, sir. It was my understanding that the purpose of this operation was to gather intelligence on an existing threat to American service members. I did what I had to do."

"Listen, Auggie. The Bureau has a solid case against Tomacek and the others."

"But not Henry Wilcox."

"Justice will be served."

Auggie rolled his eyes. "Henry gets off scot-free? Where's the justice in that?"

"It's complicated, Auggie."

"So they keep telling me."

The DNI stepped in. "We will not be prosecuting Henry Wilcox. Not at this juncture."

"Auggie, you've heard of the files J. Edgar Hoover kept on everyone who was anyone in this country." Arthur said. "Well, Henry has files, too. Much more extensive files."

Auggie nodded. "Those files are common knowledge, sir."

"What isn't common knowledge is how deep into the Washington establishment those files reach. No prosecutor will risk putting Henry Wilcox on trial," the DNI continued. "And no judge will convict him. Not as long as his threats hold sway over half of Washington. Henry Wilcox has spent decades gathering dirt on everyone who might be in a position to help him achieve his ambitions. And where there was no dirt to be found, he manufactured rumors, planted doubts, and twisted enough facts to silence even the cleanest and most upright of us. To the point where he's now persuaded himself that he's invulnerable and above the law. He knows we have evidence of his treason. He doesn't care. Now is when he is going to start using his political leverage. No one is going to risk political suicide to indict him."

"And he's right," the senator added.

Auggie couldn't believe his ears. "So we don't do anything? How many people died to serve his ambition? How many lives did he ruin?"

"I know this is difficult to accept," Arthur said, setting a calming hand on Auggie's shoulder.

Auggie shook it off. "He had terrorists in his pay!"

"That he planned to sell out so that he could ride in on the white horse and win the day," Arthur said.

"So now we... we do what? Sit idly by while he schemes and waits for the next opportunity to come back from exile?"

"No, we don't," the DNI replied. "What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room. Is that understood, Captain Anderson? "

"Yes, sir."

"The intelligence you obtained gives the Bureau sufficient grounds to begin a top-secret, deep-cover inter-agency investigation of Henry Wilcox and his actions reaching back over the course of his entire military and intelligence career. Already, we have teams tracking Henry Wilcox's movements and communications. We are investigating those from whom he's begun calling in favors. Quietly and with great care, we have begun to disseminate information of his wrong-doing.

"Pay close attention to the news in coming months, Captain Anderson," the senator continued. "I have no doubt you will begin to see a rash of political resignations across party lines and at all levels of government.

"I give you my word as the Director of National Intelligence, Henry Wilcox will never again be in a position of authority. He will never again order men to their deaths. He won't be able to order so much as a pizza, without his directives being examined in the most minute detail."

"Thank-you, sir. And thank-you for reading me in."

"We wouldn't be able to do any of this without your hard work, your service and sacrifice, son. It is greatly appreciated."

"Which leads me to the other reason we asked you up here, Auggie," Arthur said with an audible smile in his voice. He retrieved a leather portfolio from his desk and pushed it across the table until it touched Auggie's fingertips.

Auggie's eyes grew wide as he read the Braille printout. "You're raising my clearance level?"

"And your pay grade. It's only fair considering what you know. You'll receive a sizeable bonus as well."

Auggie's face grew hard. "Hush money, sir?"

Arthur bristled. "You're wide of the mark, soldier."

"Sir?"

"That bonus is the cash reward that goes with the Intelligence Medal of Merit, which, under different circumstances, you would have been awarded. Due to the deeply covert nature of this ongoing operation, we can't give you the medal or any acknowledgement of your role, but we can give you money. Do yourself a favor, Auggie, don't suspect everyone of having ulterior motives."

"With all due respect, sir, you pay me to be suspicious. But thank-you."

* * *

><p>Joan gazed out over her domain. At this hour, the voices were hushed. The business of keeping America safe didn't keep bankers' hours, but the DPD usually slowed its frantic daytime pace during the evening and night shifts. A dim light glowed in a corner of Tech Ops, and she smiled as she made her way across the bullpen. A familiar form sat in the shadows, head tilted back, eyes closed and booted foot keeping time to the tune playing through the headphones. "Mingus?" she asked, as she slid open the door.<p>

"Ellington," he answered, eyes still closed. "You're here late."

"Pot, kettle, both black," she said, leaning against the door frame. "Go home, Auggie."

Auggie pushed his earphones down around his neck. "I will. But I was hoping you'd help me with something before I go," he said, and held out an envelope. "I need you to use your World Bank NOC for this."

"Finally setting up a Swiss bank account for yourself? How very Bourne-like."

Auggie laughed."Not exactly," he said, "At least not for me."

"Are you sure about this?" Joan asked a short time later. "That's a lot of money. I can set this up so that you have access to this account at any time, should you need it."

Auggie handed over the check. "I won't need it. What would I do, buy myself a flashy car? Just set up the account with Laurie Bolduc as the trustee."

"Done," Joan said a few keystrokes later. "And the name of the account holder?"

"Daniel Bolduc, Jr."

_Finis_

_Thank-you dear readers for staying with me through this story. I started this epic two years ago, as an endurance exercise, to see if I had the stick-with-it-ness to write a novel-length story, something I had never done before. I knew where I wanted to go, had a general idea of how to get there, and could only hope I'd be stubborn enough and confident enough to see it through. It is thanks in great part to you, my readers, that I have completed this story. And, not that they'll see this, but thanks also to the Covert Affairs creators and writers and to Chris Gorham, for creating such a compelling, complex and inviting world. Finally, thanks to the wonderful writers in the CA fandom. Your work, skill, imagination and speed (really, how do you produce so much, so well, and so quickly?) have inspired me and helped me hone my craft._

_I'll be adding a post-script with historical notes in the next few days. I also plan to go back over the story for some minor tweakage and to correct the errors and inaccuracies that you so kindly pointed out along the way. I may also iron out some of the narrative wrinkles... or maybe not. Other Covert Affairs stories have been clamoring for attention. After a short break during which time I'll indulge my other muses, I'll be back with a new story._

_Thanks for reading._

_Affectionately,_

_Mutts and Moggies_


	23. Post-Script: Historical Note

Post-Script : Historical Note

One of the characteristics of spy fiction is the moral ambiguity of having the white-hatted good guys sometimes do very bad things. Because they are the protagonists we cheer them on, forgiving their ethical lapses in service to a greater good (and excellent fiction). _Covert Affairs _builds dramatic tension by playing with that moral ambiguity, while showing us that in the grand scheme, the protagonists are, at their core, good, decent people.

In real-life, however, the CIA hasn't always held the moral high-ground. One of the Agency's most notorious ethical failings was the MKUltra project which subjected unwitting participants to mind-control experimentation, often with devastating long-term effects.

Sanctioned by CIA director Allen W. Dulles, this Cold War project began in the early 1950s as a response to allegations that Communist Block countries were using mind-control techniques on U.S. prisoners of war. One aspect of the program sought to develop techniques to allow captured troops to resist mind-control and brain-washing. Another side looked for ways to control enemy forces through hypnosis, sensory deprivation, and psycho-active drugs such as LSD and mescaline.

Over two decades, thousands of individuals including military personnel, prison inmates and ordinary civilians were subjected to CIA sanctioned mind-control experiments. While some subjects volunteered and gave informed consent, the great majority, including a significant number of military personnel, did not. Moreover, because the legality of these activities was highly dubious, many of the experiments were conducted on foreign soil, most notably at Montreal's Allen Memorial Institute.

In 1973, in the midst of post-Watergate panic, the CIA destroyed most of its MKUltra records. In 1976, following recommendations by the Rockefeller and Church committees, President Gerald Ford issued an executive order prohibiting the use of experimental drugs on human test subjects without informed consent. Presidents Carter and Reagan later expanded the scope of that order to include any human experimentation without consent. The CIA officially terminated the MKUltra project in 1973.

Some of the more notorious participants in the MKUltra project include: Theodore Kaczynski, the Unabomber, author Ken Kesey, and mobster Whitey Bulger. In my story, I didn't think it too far from the realm of the possible that Henry Wilcox might also have participated in the program, and maybe even volunteered for it. That would explain an awful lot. But that is the stuff of another story.


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